The Smartest Idiots You'll Ever Meet
by mad-for-madrid
Summary: Amelia Jones: a girl with dreams of heroic proportions. Which are put to the test when she is nominated to represent the USA at the Hetalia Academy of Global Achievement, an experimental school built to foster cooperation in the modern world. Well...'cooperation' might be a stretch. Gauken AU, Genderbending
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Amelia Jones is a girl with dreams of heroic proportion. Dreams which start to seem possible when she is nominated to represent the USA at the Hetalia Academy for Global Achievement, an experimental school built to foster cooperation in the modern world. Well…'cooperation' might be a stretch…RusxFem!Ame+others **

**Rating/Warnings: M. For language and situations of adult romantic times. Warning: Genderbending! And, for more than likely awful translated languages. I love your languages, I swear. I just don't speak them proficiently. **

**I have too many ideas for hetalia fanfiction (especially this pairing, which I totally love), but this is my first one so I would love love love feedback. ^J^ **

* * *

**Prologue: An Invitation**

* * *

Amelia was, by all means, a pro at tuning out Mrs. Freidman. By the time the late bell rang, the hag had organized her trunk-full of notes over the particular day's lesson, and she finally got the rowdy kids under control, Amelia had already pulled out her notebook and proceeded to doodling.

It wasn't that she hated History. Amelia shuddered at the thought. God, no. History was almost as awesome as sports or Mars or hotdogs. Which were pretty unparalleled in their level of awesomeness to begin with. History was like a secret code that everyone knew but didn't appreciate. A super code that told you what god you believed in or that women were just as kick-ass as men (Catharine the Great, anyone?) or why some people only ate with their right fingers.

But Mrs. Friedman took all that awesome, cool stuff and just shit all over it.

Amelia could imagine the crone musing to the sex-slave kept in her basement (because there was no way someone would have given her that gaudy gold ring on her left hand willingly) "My sweet prisoner, my lessons are already not in depth or rigorous enough to keep up with minds such as that stunning genius, Amelia Jones; what ever shall I do to make her further envision throwing herself out of a window during the last class of the day?"

One of those ways, apparently, was to talk the way she did. Like she was trying to cough down nails and grape flavored Tylenol syrup at the same time. All her previous incarnations must have been lifelong chain smokers, because no way Mrs. Friedman had enough time in forty some-odd years to tar up her throat _that fucking much_.

Amelia was so, eternally grateful her mom had made her learn an instrument. Focusing on one thing (like striking keys in time or shading a particularly spectacular doodle) was quite enough for her selective hearing to boot up and kick every other sound out of her brain. Including the Hag's speech about the political ramifications of the Camp David talks. Which were covered extensively in Amelia's archive of history notes and at least five of the seven college textbooks she read on a regular basis. Yawn.

Today's doodle was of Mrs. Friedman morphing into a giant, man-eating hotdog.

The fact that in less than a semester, she would soon be free from Mrs. Friedman's influence forever (after junior _and _senior year caught in her evil clutches) made Amelia want to cry. Except heroes didn't cry. Speaking of which, Friedman Frankfurter's rampage of Amelia's rendition of downtown Washington D.C. was getting destructive enough that a doodle hero could swoop in and _roast that wiener_—

"Ahem."

Amelia bit her tongue to avoid asking her teacher if she needed a Kleenex to hack out whatever was lodged in her throat. Probably a pack of Camels from 1994.

Everyone else had stopped taking notes (because they were dull enough to find things of interest peppered into the Lecture from Hell) and were trying to hide their little giggles or whispers.

"Yes?" Amelia drawled, looking up lazily, just to see if she could get that ugly vein in Friedman's forehead to pulse.

"Are you too busy ignoring the lesson to have heard that you are needed in the front office?" A few people chuckled when Friedman waved an off-yellow piece of paper in front of Amelia's nose. She hadn't even heard someone come in to deliver the notice.

"Am I?" Amelia said curiously, keeping eye contact with the Hag as she easily plucked the paper from her grasp. A lifetime of sports and video games kept her hand-eye coordination unmatched.

"Yes," Friedman sneered. "Perhaps they are to congratulate you on your _art. _I may have mentioned it in your last student review." Her bulging green eyes shot down to the hero now zapping a very recognizable hot dog with a heat/death ray in Amelia's notebook, to the rejoicing of graphite citizens below.

"Sweet!" Amelia beamed up at her teacher. "I'm glad. No offense, but if I'd had to hear another second of this shit I probably would have stapled my ears shut."

It wasn't until the door closed behind her—perhaps a bit more forceful than necessary—that Amelia looked down at the slip of paper and started worrying a teeny bit. A tad. Heroes (or heroines!) didn't need to worry that much, but she didn't like the note.

_Amelia Jones, to report to the principal's office as soon as possible in concern to an urgent matter. _

Yeah, no sweaty freshman jotted that down at the request of one of the dumpy secretaries. Sheesh. She felt like a hole would open up in a wall and suck her to a government facility.

Amelia rolled her eyes as she rounded the corner. More than likely it was a certificate or a little plaque that the principal had forgotten to give her during Honors Night. Maybe they'd created a whole new award for the Amelia Jones' of the world!

"Most likely to achieve acts of heroism?" she tested out. "Best Verbal Skills of Anyone Ever to Step Foot in this Institution? Greatest Motherf—"

_Oh my God. _

Amelia stopped and backpedaled at few steps. Shit, was the kid who tried to blow up the gym last year back for his transcripts or something?

There were two mother_fucking_ Secret Service Agents stationed on either side of Principal Ahmad's office.

Yeah. Big, bulky, dark-suit and sunglasses wearing, headsets-wound-around-their-ears Service Agents. Amelia quickly ruled out Crazy Gym Kid. She reminded herself that the Secret Service was for the president and the Treasury. Holy Shit. Maybe the art project she'd done last semester using dollar bills was actually defacing government property.

She forced herself to breathe. Her steps felt ten times heavier than they did twenty seconds ago, but Amelia was pretty sure that these guys frowned on tardiness. If they were even for her, she reasoned, the blood circulating back to her brain regularly. Maybe they were old buddies of Ahmad's. Or maybe the Department of the Treasury was trying to integrate into eastern Virginian high schools to get youngsters more involved in their role in the economy.

Yeah.

"Amelia Jones?" She assumed it was Big-and-Scary to the left, since their stupid sunglasses didn't allow her to see who was looking at her and no one's mouth moved when the question was asked.

"In my defense, the bills I used for _Washington's Payout_ were donated to the art fund by private citizens."

Senior Macho Uno cocked head, eyebrow arching over his sunglasses as if to say _are you fucking serious?_ "That is not the purpose of this visit."

"Oh," Amelia tensed, obviously they'd already made up their minds on the matter. Well, tough. She wasn't going down for this. "You'll never take me alive!" She shouted, dropping her hips, pivoting in the direction of the front doors. She probably would've made it, too, but Secret Service Agents—as it turns out—are more than able to yank a teenager back by the straps of a backpack.

"Curse you, Newton," Amelia growled halfheartedly. One of the agents snorted (perhaps a bit meanly) and the other laughed; Amelia took it as a good sign. Maybe she'd been a tad overdramatic.

"Don't worry kid," the nicer of the two said after slack returned to Amelia's bag. "You aren't in trouble."

The other one grunted. "Miss Westin and your principal will see you now."

"Thanks, boys," she mumbled, a small part of her wanting to know who the hell Miss Westin was; or maybe to stick around and see if she could get one of them to smile, or thank them for protecting America's money and president, and ask them which one they thought was more important.

But Amelia felt the note get damp in her hand, and since palm sweat was not cool, she threw her shoulders back and pushed open the door.

* * *

Principal Ahmad looked like he would jump right over his pine desk and kiss Amelia. At least, that's what she read from the obvious relief in his face. The kiss was probably an overstatement. Seated across from Ahmad was a woman Amelia assumed was Miss Westin, but had never seen before.

She looked about as out of place in Ahmad's office as the weird ficus in the corner, the one that looked like it was dying even though it was fake.

She had on black slacks and a white, expensive looking blouse, with her long dark hair in a complicated braid. She wasn't pretty in a traditional sense, but she obviously had other things going for her and knew it. Confidence and poise seemed to ooze out of her, from the knowing little smile on her face to her fingers curled elegantly around a steaming mug of something that smelled milder than coffee, more spicy. Amelia distractedly wondered what hot tea tasted like. No one in the South seemed to know how to brew or buy anything that wasn't Ye Olde Sweet Iced Tea.

"Amelia," she said warmly, putting down her mug to stand and offer a hand. "Thank you for coming to see us. I'm Trinity Westin."

Amelia dumbly took her hand, blown away by the fact that this lady was _British_. What the heck was the Secret Service doing escorting a British lady to an American high school? Come to think of it, she hadn't bothered to address her position or what she was doing here either. Today was turning out to be really, really strange.

Principal Ahmad made a weird keening noise in his throat, which snapped Amelia out of it. Right. Be polite Amelia, don't scare away the British lady.

"Hello," she said, pumping Miss Westin's hand twice before letting go. "It's nice to meet you."

"I can imagine," Miss Westin said. It sounded like something Amelia might have said. She cracked a smile. Something told her she liked this lady.

"The reason," the visitor said after they'd all be seated. "That I am here today, Amelia, is that I represent a very distinguished school." She paused, as if Amelia should be taking notes.

"You're like…a recruiter?" She loved it when schools sent her letters or called, vying for her attention: _pick me, pick me_. But this cool, Secret Service toting lady was only here to try and persuade her to apply to yet another school? When senior year was winding down to the last three months? _She's kind of late out of the gate, _Amelia thought. Kind of disappointing, although she did get points for style.

Miss Westin pursed her lips in a contained smile. "Ah, yes, I imagine you could describe it that way. But, I am not so much as a recruiter as I am a messenger." Amelia titled her head to the side. "I could tell you all about the school that I come from. I could spent the next few months just talking and talking about what a great opportunity it is, that we have the best post-graduate success stories in the world. I'd swear on my mother's grave there isn't quite any place like it. But I'm not here to recruit you, Amelia. I could try to convince you, but the truth is, you do not _chose _to be admitted to this school. This school chooses you. And that is the message I've come to deliver to you."

Miss Westin took advantage of Amelia's silence to retrieve several thick manila folders and a bright, rectangular envelope. She handed them over to Amelia, who took them with almost unsteady hands. For some reason, this felt very important. She couldn't explain it properly, but with normally chatty Ahmad holding his breath in the corner like he was witnessing a turning point in history, it wasn't hard to feel the weight of the air. Man, Miss Westin sure knew how to talk up a place.

For lack of anything better to do, Amelia felt along the skinny envelope in her hands. The paper itself was thick, official, and something hard and waxy made her turn it over. She nearly threw it across the room, like it had caught fire.

"Is this a joke?" Amelia looked up quickly to Miss Westin, who was sipping her tea calmly. "Am I being Punk'd?"

Miss Westin smiled like she was watching a child put the pieces of a puzzle together that spelled out 'We're going to Disneyland'. "I assure you, it isn't."

Amelia swallowed against her dry, cottony tongue, and returned her gaze to the red seal on the envelope. Where the crest of the United States of Fucking America was stamped in wax. She broke it carefully with her thumbnail, thinking there might be a slight chance the Secret Service agents outside might be able to sense threats to a seal or some other bullshit. She was nervous, okay?

She pulled out a single sheet of paper and tried to focus on reading.

_Dear Miss Amelia Jones,_

_ It is my honor and privilege to nominate you as this year's representative of the United States of America to the Hetalia Academy. By use of a national lottery and then a succession of elimination rounds conducted by the Federal Board of Education, you have been narrowed down to our primer applicant. Currently, three other esteemed citizens are studying in the Academy's host cities of Stockholm, Istanbul, and Shanghai. It would be a great comfort to me to know that you would be a part of the newest branch of the Academy in Rome, Italy. _

_Yours truly, _

_Lyle Bartlett _

_President of the United States _

"Oh my God," Amelia whispered, ghosting her hand over the dried ink. "No fucking way," she shot her head up. "Sorry, I just meant…wow."

Miss Westin nodded. "I know what you mean. I broke my hand falling out a desk when I saw the Queen's signature."

"You went to the Academy?"

"First branch at Berlin, graduating class of 1999," her chest swelled a little with pride. "Best four years of my life."

Amelia took a few minutes to work up the modesty to ask, "Why me? I mean…I know I'm awesome. But maybe…"

"You're too modest, Amelia." Amelia started. No one had ever called her _modest_. "You're in the top of your class. You have put several weeks' worth of work into your community. You have expressed interest in diplomacy and have spent several years studying foreign languages and culture."

Amelia blushed, picking at the edge of her shorts. "Yeah but I'm not…" She swallowed against something sticky in her throat. "I'm not…like, a superhero. I don't…I'm probably not the most qualified. Aren't there a few Ivy league monkeys you could send over?"

"And what?" Miss Westin said. "Have the elite make connections with the other elite from all around the world? The last thing we need is more inflated egos thinking they're entitled to the planet. The truth is, we need people like you. Normal people, who have a chance to be extraordinary."

The breath went out of Amelia's lungs with a _whoosh_. Damn. Maybe like a superhero after all.

"So," Amelia looked around the room. She sort of expected everything to have changed. After all she had the freaking president's signature in her lap, and what she guessed was paperwork to a very…prestigious in the least, university. "What now?"

Miss Westin set down her cup. "Now," she said excitedly. "We change your life."

* * *

The final bell rang somewhere in the whirl of paperwork Miss Westin had procured from out of nowhere, but for once Amelia wasn't concerned about how she would get home or helping her mom cook dinner. Instead she looked over the government's file on her, poured over the UN's debriefing packet of the mission statement the Academy. She refused to put down the letter from the president.

Principal Ahmad had cleared off about thirty minutes after school had let out. Amelia thought it odd, since it was his office after all, but she remembered the fucking Secret Service posted outside. Maybe the world had commandeered it for the time being.

"So," Amelia spoke after Miss Westin had explained the general overview. "The government is going to _pay _for me to study in Italy for four years with about…" she guesstimated from the length of the list of other countries participating in the Hetalia Program, "a hundred other kids. And I'm getting a degree that's recognized in every country in the _world?_"

Miss Westin nodded. "I believe I've covered at least some of the bases with you. Would you mind if I came by your home later this evening to discuss it with your parents? Their permission is not strictly needed, since you're eighteen, but it can be a bit…overwhelming."

"Yeah," Amelia started gathering up all the materials back into the folders. "That sounds fine."

"The agents will make sure you get home safely," Miss Westin said. "I suggest you call your parents to, ah, prepare them."

Amelia grinned at her as she made her way out of the office. She let the Secret Service walk her outside as she tapped her dad's icon on her phone. He picked up after a few rings.

"Hey, dad? Yeah…yeah I know I'm a little late. But wait until you hear..."

* * *

Amelia rolled the car window down. Up again, and the _beautiful_ Virginia country side (read: telephone wire and signs for fast food that made her annoyed and hungry) was obscured by the insane amount of tint on the glass.

Halfway down. A quarter of the way up. Break it all the way down. Stutter-step up to the beat of a random Lady Gaga song Amelia hummed. Annnnd up again—

"Would you _please_ stop that?" Mr. Nasty Secret Service twisted violently in the passenger seat, a vein popping vibrantly against his throat.

Amelia raised her hands, and then carefully moved a finger to hook on the button to slide the window the rest of the way up. She could practically hear his molars grinding.

"Thank you," he said briskly, turning back to watch the road.

Amelia stuck her tongue out at him. The agent driving the practical, no nonsense sedan caught her eye in the rear view mirror. He winked at her.

It was weird having fucking _escorts_ to her house on Beech Street. And Miss Westin would be bringing over even _more_ paperwork after she made a few phone calls. It was bizarre, thinking of the official documents, transcripts, visa forms, stamped with dozens of official seals and signatures spread across her coffee table.

"So…are you guys like, my _bodyguards _or something?" Amelia spoke up. "Do we get codenames? I call dibs on Double-Oh Ninja. Or you could call me Baby Eagle. Or do you think that's demeaning, since it's like I'm stealing the president's nickname? Won't the president miss you guys driving _him_ around? Will you be following me around the Academy too? Does everyone get secret-agent bodyguards? Seems kind of counterproductive for an international schoo—"

The agent that snapped at her earlier—Amelia called him Newton (he was the one that yanked her pack)—very non-discretely turned to the driver and asked him loudly, "Please, tell me we're almost there."

The driver clucked his tongue at Newton. "A few minutes." He glanced in the rear-view mirror again. "To answer your question, Amelia, we're just escorting you to your home and we will be seeing you to and from the airport for the duration of your studies at the Academy. Don't worry, you won't have us old sacs dragging you down."

Amelia nodded. Though it would've been a little cool, now that she thought about it. They could've gotten matching shades and everything! _Trés _heroic.

Newton's earpiece buzzed. He pressed two fingers to it importantly, listening intently. Amelia decided she hated it, it was like he was copying moves from _24_, trying to emphasize oh-I'm-so-much-more-important-than-thou.

He opened his mouth to reply, and Amelia loudly feigned vomiting.

Newton did the twist again, and she could tell even though he was wearing sunglasses he had his eyes narrowed. Amelia cleared her throat slightly, grinning.

The driver laughed, his shoulders shaking, and he said pleasantly, "She reminds me of that one kid from a few years back. Remember the one from Santa Fe? I think his name was 'Jones' too. You don't happen to have family in that part of the country, do you Amelia? That kid was a riot."

Amelia shook her head, trying not to laugh at the pained expression Newton was trying to hide; it was obvious he and the driver had opposing views on the context of the word 'riot'.

"Alfred Jones was a freaking _menace_. He tried to shove tin foil in my ears."

"That's to keep the aliens from controlling your brain." Amelia joked.

Newton paled. "Please, not again," he begged under his breath.

Amelia straightened up in her seat, going for a better angle to see the agent's face. She could've sworn… "Newton…are you _crying_?"

* * *

**I know America in this story shows her smarts a lot more than our bumbling hero, but she's gotta be pretty damn smart to get into this school. Don't worry, under all that suave-femininity, she's just an idiot like the rest of us. I've been working on this story for a while, and I've gotten really far, but I'd also like to know what kind of response I get and what readers think before I move into finishing it up. Reading and reviewing is immensely awesome and I love you all for it. More soon! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I couldn't wait that long to post some of the following chapters, because I can't wait to get this things moving and introduce all of the characters. I just thought this story kind of needed some background seeing as it wasn't a typical college AU (that's for later...maybe *crosses fingers*). Trust me, we're going to see our favorite friends very soon. Thanks again for everyone brave enough to try this story out! R&R **

* * *

**Six months later.**

"Amelia! Contrary to your beliefs, the Secret Service does not wait on your beck and call!"

"TWO SECONDS!" Amelia ran her hands through her hair, wishing she had a headband or something to clip her bangs back.

Okay, okay, okay. _Shit_. She ran through her room one more time, picking up stray socks and comic books and throwing them into the last open suitcase on her stripped bed. She went through the list in her head: _telescope, textbooks, small furniture, all sent ahead._ Amelia smoothed her skirt against her clammy hands. Her entire room had been packed away or shipped off, but she just had the nagging feeling that she was forgetting something that she always got it before a big trip.

She hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in weeks. The past few months had been…crazy. A whirlwind of relearning mediocre Italian from library books and paperwork. Mountains of paperwork. Floods of document requests, forms, appointments with the Italian consulate.

It was strange, because ever since graduation, all her other friends were quick to go wild, to shake their hair loose and just have fun before the move-in days in August. No one had quite understood her huge agenda, and she felt like their natural response of distancing themselves from her was having the reverse effect. If anything it made her feel like _she _was leaving _them _behind. She was outpacing them, above them, looking down.

Only her friend Monica had stopped by the day before to say goodbye in person. Everyone else left Facebook posts, tweeted her from pool parties, requesting pictures of the 'hot Italians' and reiterating 'don't 4get us over here gurl'.

"Amelia if you don't get down here, I'm going to go to Italy for you!" She winced. Momma wasn't kidding. When she wasn't crooning about how her baby was growing up and becoming a big, important world citizen, she was looking jealously at the pamphlets spread across the house, showing smiling locales and the school grounds where Amelia's graduating class would be situated, just outside of Rome.

She wasted another second, staring at her room. Maybe for the last time in months. It made her want to be sick and giggle simultaneously.

"YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

No! Heroes were never late. Except when dramatic plot devices called for it. And this was not one of those times. Those perky Italians needed her! WHO ELSE WOULD EAT ALL THAT DELICIOUS FOOD? And, um, study.

Amelia threw on her high tops and drew the zipper on her suitcase, and in seconds she was pounding towards the entryway.

Last time down the stairs.

Last time past those horrid B.B. (before braces) photos on the wall.

Last time jumping the bottom two steps in a single bound.

Amelia's parents stood by the door with the driver that had taken her home nearly half a year ago. He smiled gently at her, obviously trying to counterbalance her mother's screaming, which she could still hear vibrating in the air if she tried hard enough.

Now that they'd spent months running and running, trying to get everything ready, Amelia suddenly felt the weight and _eternity_ of this one moment slam into her. She was saying goodbye to her _parents_. She wished quickly that she had the months back to appreciate everything they'd done to get her to this point.

"Be good, baby," her mom said (gently for a change) into Amelia's neck, her arms tight around her daughter. Amelia distractedly remembered a time when she'd barely reached her mom's hip. And now the tip of her mom's head just brushed her cheekbones. Funny how that works. "Call, email whenever you can. Three hour updates aren't mandatory but are appreciated." Amelia just nodded, mouth dry and eyes stinging. If she laughed she was going to start crying.

"I love you, Mom," she choked—forced out. Heh. Amelia Freaking Jones, choking on words. As if.

"You remembered your…pills, right?" Amelia's mom lowered her voice. "That prescription was expensive don't forget—"

"Oh my God, _Mom_," Amelia looked over at the agent, hoping he hadn't heard. "_Yes. _I have them."

"Just making sure. I trust you but I don't to have to throw a shower the next time you come home."

"…"

"We're proud of you," her dad interjected, tried to wiggle in between them for a group hug, making his women giggle and swat at him. "Don't go breaking too many hearts," he winked down at Amelia. "By the way, that's code for no boys. I don't trust those foreigners…"

"Yeah, yeah," Amelia disentangled herself. "Don't worry, Dad. Heroines don't need boys unless they need someone to beat, right?"

Her dad froze, and then dramatically put his hands on Amelia's shoulders. He gathered himself, as does a preacher before a sermon (or Amelia right before Karaoke). "Go forth, my child!" he cried, tossing his head back. "For there is no more I can offer to teach you, Wise Little One!"

"George!" Amelia's mom sighed heavily, but she had a smile on her face. "You better get going sweetheart, that plane's leaving with you or without you."

Amelia nodded. And all months of moping around the house, thinking 'last this' 'last that' didn't seem worth it when she saw her parents, smiling and maybe hiding a little sadness for her benefit, leaning on each other, at once with her and not.

She felt light. Terrified, but light.

"See you for winter break!" Amelia gave them one last peck on the check and let the agent hustle her out of the house, apologizing but citing their tardiness.

The interior of the car was the same as when she'd last ridden in it. Her companions hadn't changed either.

"Morning, Newton," Amelia chirped.

She could practically _feel_ his eyes rolling.

"For the last time, that isn't my name."

Amelia just laughed at him and started fiddling with her iPod. She tried to categorize this ride, this feeling, her destination, as another 'last' to add to her list.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, pleased when she couldn't.

_This is definitely a First_, she decided, hand inching towards the power windows.

Amelia had always thought that if she'd ever get to leave the country, her last moments on U.S. soil would be profound, perhaps waving goodbye to an envoy of well-wishers tossing hankies and blowing kisses.

Instead, she got Newton, a bored expression taking up his features as he stood awkwardly by the security desk. "You're plane will be departing in thirty-five minutes," he said, trying to shoo her off in the direction to her gate.

"Jeez, it's been nice knowing you too, Newton," she winked, loving how she could see him imagining the end of term, coming right back here and playing babysitter.

"You've been given an _opportunity_ to represent the United States of America, it is truly an honor," he straightened up significantly. For once, Amelia didn't resent him for how his words sounded short and authoritative. She felt important hearing them.

Amelia nodded. "Thank you, and can I just say—"

"Don't blow it."

He spun on his heel and started walking briskly back to the car.

"You…" Amelia blanched. "You don't get the last word! That's a HERO thing!"

She scuffed her shoe on the tile of the floor. Oh, well. By the time she leaned down to grab her bag and turned towards the mill of people swarming through the busy terminal, she had a shit-eating grin on her face.

Oh-ho-ho, you better get ready, Hetalia. Amelia Jones is coming for you…

* * *

**Background chapters, done! Next up we visit the Academy and meet some of Amelia's new friends! **


	3. Chapter 3

**I literally could not wait! I got a pretty okay response for just one night, but it seems unfair to post an APH fic without all our favorite characters. Updates won't generally be this quick, hopefully feedback will determine the finer points of the story and let me churn it out faster though. Thanks for all R&R, they mean so much. **

**Forgot to put a disclaimer in the first two chapters, but if you haven't noticed, I don't own Hetalia and I'm not making any profit from this. **

* * *

_Oh-ho-ho, you better get ready, Hetalia. Amelia Jones is coming for you…_

After an eighteen hour flight.

Shit, how did people manage doing this on a regular basis? After hour six, Amelia's bubbling enthusiasm, shouts of claiming to be able to see dolphins in the Atlantic from thirty thousand feet up, and trying to mime 'hot dog' to her Italian attendant (with interesting results), she was starting to wane. She was really feeling that five hours of sleep she'd gotten the previous night. When had the age of ocean liners died out? Amelia would have taken a week of seasickness to this.

"_No puedo salvar a Italia si yo soy un zombie_," Amelia moaned against the window, Spanish leaking in where her pre-k level Italian failed. Her seat buddy, a cute little bugger from Naples, patted the back of her head sympathetically, and Amelia focused on the thumping rhythm until her eyes finally slid closed.

* * *

Amelia woke up somewhat refreshed on the morning she left. Or was it two mornings after she'd already left. Damn, she scratched her head, time differences were tough.

She fought people traffic, presented her passport and visa at Customs, and fought more people traffic until she got the ground transportation level.

"…fuck," she breathed. She felt like a lost puppy at the park. Newton had said there'd be one of those cool people with a sign on her name right _here. _But there were tons of people like that. And even more people trying to elbow each other out of the way to squint at the ID cards. Oh, God. What if her plane had been delayed a few hours in weird time-zone-limbo? What if they thought she snubbed the invitation and ran off to join the Turkish Circus? What if—

A bright flash of white. _Amelia Jones, Hetalia Academy_.

Oh.

A stout man with a nice smile and a very impressive mustache was alternating between the cards he held in each hand. He stood with the other hustle and bustle of ordered cars, but had a few good-looking teenagers standing on his right. Another kid had recognized his name on the card and fought through a throng of Japanese tourists to get to the group. Now the only card he held up was Amelia's.

Yeah, might be a good idea to head over. Amelia cleared her throat.

She strode right up Mustache. He looked at her, looked at the card for clarification, looked at her once more, and smiled. "You are…Amelia, yes?"

"That's me!" Gah! His Italian accent was too adorable, like he was trying to make his words as flamboyant and operatic as possible.

Mustache made a motion for Amelia to hand him her passport. She dug it out of the zipper on her bag, and he gave it a thorough once-over before returning it to her. "Thanks, my man," she smiled at him. She'd thought (or rather, her mother had made a point to mention it several times) that maybe it would be a good idea to 'cool it' at first. Ha. Whatever that meant. She was _here_. She was in fucking _Italy_. And it seemed a shame to put on a diplomatic face when she had been accepted for being her awesome self.

He returned her smile. "We will be leaving now, you were the last scheduled to arrive."

Amelia scanned the group of kids around her. Up close, they weren't too intimidating—if you ignored the fact they were all future world leaders—more like…uncomfortable. And no doubt they were diverse, but there was only like, twelve of them.

"I kinda thought there'd be more of us," she said. Most of them spoke English, or English well enough to understand her in the busy area, and stared at her with quirked eyebrows. Mustache started herding them towards the nice sliding doors.

"Ah! No, _senorita_," a voice popped up beside her. "We arrive in waves, you see? We are fifth out of seven groups arriving today. More came yesterday. That way we will not overwhelm these lovely Italians with our charisma and beauty, no?"

Amelia turned to grin at her new companion. Thank God, someone friendly! He was one of the taller boys in the group, an easy smile plastered on his face, and green eyes that seemed to spark and fizzle with mirth and energy. Whew boy, and that voice.

"If that was the case, they should have sent individual cars."

The boy stopped for a second and a smaller, Asian boy bounced off his back. "You! That is funny. I like you," he resumed walking (ignoring curses from behind him in Japanese) and stuck out his hand. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Amelia took his hand, matching his grin. Damn, his smile was infectious. "Amelia Jones."

"Very nice to meet you, Amelia," Antonio said as they stepped into the mild Italian day. The sun felt amazing after half a day of being stuffed into a plane. Everyone else in her group seemed to enjoy the same effect, and Amelia saw it as a good sign. Maybe this pleasant setting would loosen the sticks they seemed to have shoved up their asses. As far as she could tell, only Antonio and she had engaged in conversation.

"Back at you." Mustache led them to a plain charter bus, not much different than the airport shuttles Amelia saw at Washington Dulles. They were instructed in three different languages to store any large luggage in the compartment on the side of the bus and then to get on quickly.

"We are not wanting you to miss out on your first day, no?" Mustache finished in English.

"What exactly goes on before classes?" Amelia turned to Antonio, who had situated himself in the seat across the aisle from her. "The pamphlets were general, not very specific you know." She hoped to God it wasn't like stupid 'socials' her honors classes and orchestra put on. Usually Amelia was good with a crowd, but not a bunch of boring kids who thought they were The Shit.

Antonio shrugged. "This is my first day, as well, _linda_. How should I know?"

"You knew about the arrival stuff."

"Only because some _pomposo culo_ wouldn't shut up about the schedule." Antonio rolled his eyes. He straightened up, apparently taking on the persona of another student. "The other group has already left Giovan Battisa Pastine, no doubt we'll be late. It simply isn't _proper. _I say, this would not be the case in Heathrow. Too bad the Academy has already hosted London. Quite a shame, really."

"Hey!" someone yelled indignantly. Amelia snickered as Antonio's eyes widened. The 'pompous asshole' had apparently chosen the set right behind him. "I'll have you know it is common courtesy to be concerned about punctuality and scheduling."

It took Amelia a few moments to grasp what exactly he was saying. One, he sounded like a slurring idiot when he said 'scheduling' like that. Two, his eyebrows were fucking enormous and very distracting. Had this kid never heard of tweezing? But she caught herself; she remembered she was supposed to be nice to sad, foreign kids who had never heard of personal grooming.

"So!" Amelia leaned over to try and wrangle his attention away from glaring daggers at Antonio. "You _do _know what happens at Orientation and…whatever?"

"We're to be sorted into our Houses," his expression was stoic. "Our houses, during our stay at the Academy, will be our family."

Amelia quirked her head to the side, then laughed when the wires crossed. "Harry Potter? Oh my, gosh man, best books ever. Well, definitely up there, you know? Of course you know, you're British. What's your favorite? Can you believe how they ended the last movie? It was basically perfect until the last twenty minutes. I mean, still amazing. But, _really_. What's your name? You really can't be all that stuck up if you like HP. Oh, yeah and seriously though, what goes on in Orientation? Do we swear a blood oath? Make secret pledges? Share international secrets over espresso and pizza?"

Amelia saw Antonio eye the kid in sympathy, forgetting for a second that earlier he had been mocking him. The kid's eyelid twitched, from information overload or annoyance she didn't really know.

"I…you…" He flushed, embarrassed at stumbling over his words. "Bloody American," he muttered finally, and retrieved a book from his bag.

"Come on!" Amelia whined. "You didn't answer a single question!"

"_The Order of the Phoenix_," he said. "And Arthur Kirkland, representative of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." That's all she got before he disappeared behind _The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_. Amelia tried not to blink. That sounded awfully like the information a fucking _prisoner _of _war_ would give under the Geneva Convention. Weren't they supposed to be classmates?

"What about Orientation?" she pestered, leaning farther into the aisle. In Amelia's experience, the need for personal space outweighed the desire to stay silent. No one was immune to Amelia's 'annoy the hell out of them' strategy. "Come on, a heroine can't just walk into a situation blindly!"

Arthur gave a snort before turning a page.

"You might as well give up, Amelia," Antonio's lazy voice floated down from where he had turned and perched his head on the top of his seat. "The English aren't well known for helping out others as well as they do themselves."

That got Arthur to lower his book. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know!" Antonio declared dramatically. "How dare you pretend ignorance!"

Arthur got riled up at once. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"You shamed my country, you and your godless pirates." Antonio clutched at his heart. "My poor armada."

Arthur looked at the other man in stunned silence, clearly frustrated but seeming to have been paralyzed by the complete absurdity of what he was hearing.

Amelia felt the need to interject. "Um, Antonio, wasn't that like…five hundred years ago?"

Antonio continued to stare over his seat at Arthur, muttering darkly in Spanish.

"Okayyy," Amelia said (mostly to herself, since her only acquaintances were apparently blood enemies focused on either antagonizing or ignoring each other).

She spent the rest of the ride talking to the person in front of her, who really only wanted to know if he could check her shirt tags to see if her outfit had been made in Korea.

* * *

Finally, Amelia was able to climb out of the van and allow herself to be sequestered to the registration office. Which as it turned out, was not too daunting. Since each group was small and arriving at different times, there wasn't traffic or much hassle. The first thing they did was take her measurements for the school uniform, which Amelia hoped would turn out as good as they looked on the stylish models set up in the main lobby. She was also given a thick, glossy booklet describing her course work and options for class selection, which were to be completed by the next day, three keys (two to the dorms and one for a locker at the athletic complex).

A pretty lady in a pencil skirt waved her group in the direction of the dorms. She spoke Italian and French, both very slowly so second or third language speakers could keep up, and explained the layout of the campus in short detail. From the small main office they made their way through the beautiful property. It was a small school, hidden away from the main roads so completely that Amelia had a hard time believing Rome was thirty kilometers away, and decorated superbly. Every building they passed was dotted with climbing ivory, topped by recreations of archetypal moldings and sculpture. The grounds were strewn with oases of sparkling marble fountains, gardens encircled by mosaic tile depicting scenes from Roman mythology, and busts of classic and contemporary scholars alike.

"You will have time to explore on your own, have no worries. Classes do not commence for another four days. Orientation, the introduction of all students and faculty, on the other hand, will begin at seven o' clock this evening in the student hall, so try to get your class registry done by then. Now, I'm sure all of you are exhausted from your travels. I'll show you to your rooms and let you have a nice _siesta_."

Amelia felt like crying from relief. _Finally_. Her fatigue seemed to slam into her like a brick wall at the mention of a nap. She'd barely had the energy to laugh at Arthur arguing with the Chinese representative, who Arthur had apparently grievously offended by comparing their national cuisine on the same level. She'd managed, but man had it been tough.

The lady in the skirt produced a clipboard and started calling names. It didn't take long for Amelia to get her room assignment. Third floor of the girl's dorm, room eight. It meant climbing stairs, but she didn't care at this point as long as there was a place she could throw her stuff and then slip into a coma for the next five hours.

The inside of the building was a relief from the warmth outside and very tasteful from a design perspective. If Amelia was into that kind of thing. Tile floors, walls a rich green, and simple little things that just said 'Italy'. Grapevines styled into the crown molding. Stuff like that.

"Yay," Amelia huffed as she dropped her bag on the floor beside her room. The hallway wasn't long, there were only twenty rooms to a floor. And no co-ed, which might be a problem if 'the girls' didn't appreciate Halo or Michael Jackson in the middle of the night. She may have to work on those impulses. Or soundproofing her walls.

The inside of the room was…pretty. Plain, but pretty; a full bed, vanity, set of drawers, a wardrobe carved out of hard oak, and walls just begging to be plastered with posters. Amelia picked her way over the luggage that had arrived ahead of her and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Amelia's right eye cracked when a soft, eager knock rang through her _wonderful_ dream. She scowled. She didn't get married to Tony Stark every day, you know.

"Coming," she yawned, smacking her lips together. Ew. Nap breath.

She took the time to clear a more workable path out of the boxes that crowded her door, so her visitor was halfway through a second bought of knocking before she finally swung it open.

"Oh!" A smaller girl with pigtails and a sweet expression quickly tucked her hand away to her side. "Hello! My name is Madeline, I'm the floor supervisor for you girls, I just wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything before Orientation."

"How cool of you," Amelia tried to smile, but it quickly fell into a yawn. "I'm Amelia, from the United States." Madeline shook Amelia's outstretched hand, palm to palm. Yeah, no prissy handshakes for these two strong, independent women. Amelia wondered what country Madeline represented.

"Canada, by the way," Madeline seemed to read her mind. "I graduated last year, class of Budapest. Well, like I said, Orientation is soon. Don't worry about it. It's really a lot more fun than it sounds. You get to meet a lot of people and there's tons of food. There's no way anyone can really go wrong."

"Sweet," Amelia wiped away the last signs of sleep from her eyes. "How soon, exactly?"

Madeline checked her watch. "In about…an hour and a half."

"What?" Amelia's voice hitched a little, making Madeline jump. "Shit, sorry." She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing when she was met with resistance of the gunk-grease-grime trifecta. "Guess I slept longer than I thought. I need to get a shower."

"No worries. Keep calm, just do your thing. You know?"

The blood stopped thrumming through Amelia's veins so violently, her breath lengthened again. Man this chick was mellow.

Madeline left afterwards, moving onto the next room. And Amelia tore through her crates to find anything suitable to Orientation. Ugh. Boys were probably wearing slacks. Girls would wear skirts. GOD she'd have to wear makeup. She threw her most presentable (read: longest) black skirt and a deep blue blouse her mom had gotten her for her birthday on the bed.

Maybe she'd have time to catch up with Antonio on the way to the student hall, she thought as she blasted hot water from her private bathroom. Or even Arthur. Anyone was better than having to rotate around the room, trying out different people like shoes in a department store.

The registration packet took only slightly longer than swiping on her make-up, since Miss Westin had drilled it into Amelia's head over the past few months how many options she had, what would help her in the diplomacy track she was pursuing. She checked off the basic classes (Poli Sci, Current Events, World History, Speech and Debate, Foreign Language Lab, etc.) and flipped through a few elective options before she settled on Astronomy. She would've loved to flick a few checkmarks next to sports, but with such a small class, the students were put in charge of their own physical education.

A small chirping noise started going off from Amelia's cellphone, signaling fifteen minutes until seven. She threw down her pen after one final signature. She grinned at the ceiling, feeling the jet lag lying in wait at the edge of her mind and the butterflies that had taken up a breeding ground in her midsection. "Rock it, girl," she whispered to no one.

* * *

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek when she continued to scan the trickle of students starting to make their way across the grounds. No tall Spaniard, no weirdo Brit, not even a timid little Canadian chick. "My life sucks," she muttered to herself. Then remembered her Disney and reminded herself, "A flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all."

The girl walking closest to Amelia shorted her stride to fall back several feet.

* * *

Amelia's smile was back in place by the time she was filtered through the doors of the student hall. An attendant at the door had given her a fancy nametag that spelled out her Romanized name and country in silvery script, she felt very official, like she was attending a State Dinner. She could hear the din of conversations in dozens of languages, some she could work her way through if she stopped and listened hard enough. It was like the whole world was in the same room for the night.

A flittering of Spanish caught her attention. _Antonio?_ She wormed her way into a slightly larger group of people, they parted like the Red Sea and quieted somewhat. Amelia was suddenly _very _aware of her pigment.

"Ahhh…_lo siento, pensé que mi amigo_…" Several tanned faces looked at her with bizarre curiosity. After a tense moment, she added cheekily, "_El equipo venezolano se va a matar a Costa Rica este año_."

Amelia laughed as it sparked outcries from everyone except a smiling boy that laughed and clapped her on the back. Soon though, Amelia was trying to snort back laughter with them as they shouted at each other, talking animatedly about football. A few people standing around them were sending inquisitive glances if they were alone, annoyed if they were trying to talk to others over Amelia's new Latin American friends. One guy especially threw Amelia off, a giant in his own little group, he narrowed his eyes, managing to be both aggravated and perplexed at the same time. His circle wasn't much for talking, but no one seemed to want to bother moving anywhere else. _Weirdo_, Amelia thought dispassionately.

"Amelia!" Antonio's voice cut through the muddled mess around her. "Over here!"

She turned to see Antonio, sporting black slacks and a red dress shirt waving at her. In their short time spent apart, he'd managed to procure a small group of new faces. He'd gone to _work._

A chorus of nearly comical moans echoed back when she said _adios_. Amelia waved them off, smiling and promising they'd get on fine without her. A few disagreed but they were back to chatting and laughing before she got ten feet away.

"Hey," her confidence increased with every step she took towards them. She hadn't struck out so far, and showing off her Spanish had given her a buzz. God, people here _loved her._ Fucking awesome. "Amelia Jones, United States of America," she introduced herself, nodding to everyone.

They surprised her by speaking extremely fluent English. So far she'd noticed that most students were fluent in anywhere from three to half a dozen languages, but English was almost always a constant.

Where Amelia had branched out to the New World, Antonio had preferred staying on the Continent: Francis Bonnefoy of France (that seemed redundant). Ludwig Beilschmidt of Germany. Feliciano Vergas of Italy. And Gilbert Beilschmidt, an albino that was the advisor for the floor they had all been roomed on in the boy's dorms, and also Ludwig's older brother.

"Isn't that weird, though? Like a one in a million chance and wham, you both get picked. Will your family rub my next lottery ticket for good luck?"

Gilbert laughed, slinging a long pale arm around his brother's shoulders, who tried to look indifferent but no one could mistake his squirming. Amelia felt kind of bad for him. Here he was at one of the most exclusive boarding schools/colleges/whatever in the WORLD and he still couldn't get away from his older brother. "Isn't unheard of. Not when _geil_ just runs in your family!"

Francis rolled his eyes. "_Mon ami_ you are not that awesome if the Vargas brothers can easily achieve the same circumstance, _non_?"

"Your brother is here _too_?" Amelia turned to Feliciano, tuning out Gilbert squawking indignantly in German. Feliciano nodded animatedly. He really was cute, in a take-you-home, protect-you-forever kind of way. He had one wayward curl that sprung independently from his otherwise straight, stylish auburn hair that you instinctively wanted to reach out and pat. Maybe he'd had an accident with a curling iron in his youth.

"_Si, fratello_ had to take care of something with one of the boys on the first floor. Apparently he tried to sneak a cat onto campus! Maybe everyone can meet him later. Big brother, not the kitty."

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Someone is starting to speak." He had a no nonsense way about him; his hair was slicked back like men had done about half a century ago. But he wasn't that bad. So far, Amelia's only complaint was that she felt like she automatically had to straighten her posture when he threatened to look her way. Everyone else in the room started to quiet down as a man Amelia recognized from pictures as the dean of their campus made his way to the front of the room.

The dean smiled out at them. "Welcome to the Hetalia Academy of Global Achievement, class of Rome. I would like to first touch on a few announcements that were not included in your packets. Clubs and Model UN meeting times will be posted during the second week of term. Model UN is attendance is strongly encouraged to all students, even if you are not part of the diplomacy track. And the mock Hetalia Olympic committee, which organizes _friendly-"_ he fixed his audience with a stern look, "-competitions of sportsmanship and teamwork, will start meeting very soon. Anyone interested can see Ms. Maes.

"Right. Now, down to business. Classes of the Academy are also running in Stockholm, Istanbul, and this year's graduating class at Shanghai. But as they are continuing the journey they have embarked on, you are just beginning. The Hetalia Academy might be strange. It might be unfamiliar. Sometimes even a bit silly. But I hope that the message of the Academy is instilled on you during your stay: that you are all humans first, and then, hopefully, friends. Eat, be merry, and don't brown nose your professors too much."

Polite applause and laughter flitted around the room as he stepped down. Amelia stuck a few fingers and her mouth and let out a low, long whistle. Ludwig seemed a bit put off. "Are you entirely sure that was appropriate? That was Romulus Veneziano, the former Secretary of the Euro Panel for Higher Education—"

"Lighten up," she laughed at him. "You sound just like…ARTIE!" She cried, catching a glimpse of spikey, blonde hair and EYEBROW. Aw, and poor Artie was alone, hovering near a few representatives but not engaging in direct conversation. FINALLY, a perfect opportunity. She had a damsel in distress.

Stop. Hero time.

She nearly skipped over to Arthur. He tried to hide behind the small Asian boy that had been in their arrival group earlier, but he hadn't seen her coming fast enough.

"Hey, Artie," Amelia disregarded the student cringing between them for the time being (always time to introduce yourself later, after all) and engaged in a little keep-away game with Arthur. "Come on, say hi to some people I just met!"

"Don't call me that!" The Englishman objected, countering Amelia's sidestep. "And I'll do whatever I bloody well please."

Amelia stuck out her bottom lip. "Aw, come on! Aren't we supposed to be allies? I thought the President was following the Queen on Twitter!"

"You, twit," Arthur shoved the Asian boy aside, taking a few steps to get in Amelia's face. "If you think we're supposed to be friends just by our countries stance as allies then you are a complete nutter! That negates the whole point of this blasted school!"

Amelia rocked back on her heels. Damn. Of course. It wasn't reasonable that she could expect to get along with people just because their governments were tolerating one another. Artie was a wise one.

"I see…" She tapped her fingertips together, and Arthur relaxed, thinking that his Miraculous Voice of Reason had deterred her. "I guess that just means we'll just have to be friends on our own!"

She grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and started dragging him over to her group (which had been watching the entire encounter with wide, disbelieving eyes). "Unhand me you…you _wench_!" Amelia wasn't having that though. She made easy transport time, even which all the kicking and scratching.

"Okay guys, this is Arthur, he's from the UK. Specifically England. At least, I think. So he's a bit stuffy. Make him feel welcome." Arthur kept on sputtering, his cheeks flushed with rage. But Amelia was already doubling back for the Asian kid, who looked just as confused as he had when used as a human shield.

"Hi," she toned her voice down a bit, unsure how well he understood English. "Sorry about that. My method is a bit…abrasive I guess." The boy just looked at her with blank, dark brown eyes. "But I was wondering, if you weren't already, uh, otherwise occupied, maybe we could forget about the past two minutes and you could join us…over there. If you want."

The boy swerved his gaze to where Amelia's thumb was frozen over her shoulder. Thankfully, they seemed to be getting along, because he slowly nodded. "That would be…acceptable."

Amelia snorted. "_Awesome_, please. Mostly because of me, but they seem okay. I've only known them for about ten minutes, though. What was your name again?"

"Kiku Honda," he didn't blink as he fell into step beside her. "I'm from Japan. And yourself?"

"Amelia Jones, from America. Your English is awesome!"

The complement brought forth at least a little smile. "I've been taking English courses since I was very young. And also watching American baseball on television has helped."

"Sweetness!" Amelia lightly punched his arm. "I wish my school had taught Japanese. I had to make do with really crappy subbed anime."

"You," Kiku's eyes seemed to focus fractionally in interest. "You watch anime?"

Amelia nodded as they reentered the ever growing circle of people in the middle of the room. "Way better than American animation." She looked around wildly and leaned towards Kiku's bubble. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Kiku jumped back about half a foot. "Sorry!" Amelia rushed to straighten up, hands in the air. "Sorry." _Note to self: Kiks has space issues._

Everyone else was starting to get along. At least, as well as strangers from completely different ethnic and cultural backgrounds could at their first meeting. Ludwig and Kiku quickly struck up a conversation about engineering. Francis and Gilbert were eying some girls across the room. Antonio and Feliciano were talking about the pros and cons of using tomatoes in a dessert.

It kind of went to hell when Arthur and Francis started going at it.

"What do you mean, English literature is rubbish?" Arthur's voice broke loudly with frustration. Amelia and several others paused to listen in.

"Come now, Monsieur Kirkland," Francis tsked. "Rubbish isn't exactly the word I would have used. Dull. Borish. Unentertaining. Which isn't surprising. Perhaps the authors overindulged in Shepard's Pie before taking up a pen." Amelia was pretty sure she had never seen someone's face turn the exact pigment of purple that Arthur's had. "How else do you explain _Sense and Sensibility_?"

"You shut your mouth, frog! You've got about as much sense and sensibility as my right eyebrow!"

"I'm afraid no could have that much, _mon ami_, surely they'd explode."

"Oh, _very clever_, fancy pants. Just because directors can barely manage to make people forget about what an awful book _Les Miserables _was doesn't mean everything else is shit!"

"_Oui, _but I don't recall _Pride and Prejudice _ever won an Academy Award."

"FUCK YOU, JANE AUSTEN IS A DELIGHT."

Francis smirked as Arthur stomped off towards the food table. Everyone stood frozen for about two seconds before continuing where they left off, some laughing at what they'd just seen. But Amelia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It _was_ kind of her fault he was over there in the first place. And now he had been in a screaming match, made fun of, and forced to retreat to the punch bowl with the air of a sulking puppy. All in the span of about three minutes.

She pinched Antonio's elbow to let him know she was leaving (but he was still talking animatedly about food so she wasn't sure if he noticed) and made her way over to Arthur.

"Here to kidnap me again?" his voice was laced with bitterness and wounded ego.

Amelia pouted, settling into his line of sight. At least she would have been if he wasn't being a big baby and looking at the clock on the wall. "Don't be like that, Artie. How was I supposed to know you're apparently incapable of getting along with anything with two legs?"

Arthur snorted. "Very nice. Thank you. I'll hold onto that compliment to my dying day."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "I was _joking_, Artie."

"Whatever," he sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. Amelia noticed he had small holes in his ears, two in his lobe and one in his cartilage. He wore a thumb ring as well, and she could see the tan lines where he usually decorated his other fingers. She wondered if she was missing anything else, if his blazer sleeves hid a tattoo or something. She felt like giggling. Bookworm Arthur was a little punk! How cute!

"Well," she drew out her vowels. "I know technically we aren't supposed to be on good terms strictly because of our countries, and there's no reason for me to owe you anything. But you want to know a secret?"

Arthur scoffed, and that kind of irked her. She was trying to be friendly here! You'd think after a really stressful day of international travel that would be welcomed. Sheesh.

"Fine, I'll tell you anyways." Except now it didn't feel like she was sharing something cool to build a lifelong friendship. He'd warped and twisted her heroic deed into something stupid. God, _the British_. "Jane Austen's pretty great, no matter what that dick says."

There was silence where Arthur slid her a sidelong glance. "Quite so." He finally said.

"And you know what else?"

"…what?"

"You didn't get mad at me calling you Artie this _whole_ time!"

"Now, see here!—"

"Yeah, yeah," Amelia grabbed him by his sleeve, tugging him back out into the foyer. Maybe it was best to avoid…people in general with him around, but she couldn't leave her pal by himself now. "Come on bro."

* * *

The rest of Orientation went off without much incident. Well, until she found Madeline for a few minutes and Gilbert flew in out of _fucking_ nowhere, pestering and flirting with her at a spectacularly low level. Amelia was able to distract him long enough with the idea of a bratwurst eating contest so Madeline could finally make a break for sanctuary at the French professor's side, looking over her shoulder every few seconds.

"Dude, what was that about?" Amelia really didn't have much patience for guys who thought they could walk all over girls.

"Don't worry, little bird," Gilbert said, sending a smile he probably thought was sexy in the Canadian's direction. "It's totally fate. We graduate together? And then just _happen_ to be room advisers all the way in Rome…_together_? For Christ's sake, she wants my five meters."

"…what the fuck, man."

* * *

**Yay! thanks so much for sticking with it through this intro. I'm truly sorry if I completely botched those translations, if anything bugs you please feel free to tell me (it'd be a great help). Don't worry, though, you ain't seen nothing yet, just wait until I try to write in Russian. Phonetically. I just like being able to sound it out in your head, because it's so badass. Lol I must love looking like an idiot in two languages. **

**According to Google Translate**

**_No puedo salvar a Italia si yo soy un zombie- = I can't save Italy if I'm a zombie. _**

**___El equipo venezolano se va a matar a Costa Rica este año = the Venezuelan team is going to kill Costa Rica this year. (note: I don't know the standings of ANY pro soccer team. I just thought it would be a good ice breaker for the other American countries.)_**

**Oh, and _giel_ is supposed to mean 'awesome' but the internet gives me awful doubts. **

**See ya soon! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my gosh thank you everyone! Waking up the morning after I posted the last chapter to sweet reviews and seeing people show a continued interest in the story makes this seemingly unending process way, way cool.**

**Keeping updates to myself is literally killing me, lol, but I'm glad I did because I keep thinking of good things to add in. Once again, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

* * *

Waking up the next morning was about ten times worse than a few days after she'd received the appointment at the Academy. Amelia and her friend Monica had seen it fit to celebrate with a few…dozen Jager shots. Her head was pounding, and she felt like she'd only gotten a few minutes of sleep. A look at her alarm clock said differently.

"This jet lag is going to KILL ME!" She threw a pillow at the wall, flopping back on the bed in misery.

But she knew the best thing to do was stay up; she only had the remainder of this day and two others before classes started up. She ran water for another shower, and fought sleepily to think about Model UN, the Hetalia Olympics. Sounded like a good time. Yeah. She fumbled for the shampoo and nearly sliced an artery shaving her legs. Maybe better to think after a run or something.

Nike felt good against her skin after a few days' worth of dress wear. She popped her pill, braided her short, wet hair, and set off. Other kids were wandering from building to building, trying to work out their bearings; some were heading towards the student hall for a late breakfast; and then there were those just laying conked out in patches of sunlight or under the shade of trees.

Amelia tried to remember where the athletic center was. Retracing pencil skirt's steps from the tour yesterday wasn't helping much. Maybe past the administrator's complex…or maybe it was closer to the dorms after all…or near the library…?

She finally stopped, feeling stupid for walking around in a circle.

"Good morning, Miss Amelia," Amelia turned to see Kiku making his way to her from the direction of the student hall. "How was the rest of your evening?"

"Kiks! It was great. Well, good as it could get. I lost track of you after a while, you end up okay?"

Kiku nodded. "I ended up retiring early."

"It's great to know the Academy has such a diverse demographic that it includes the elderly." Amelia jeered at him.

"You are lucky I find my habits endearing and above criticism. Besides, I've had several hours to be able to walk and admire our new surroundings. Quite extraordinary."

Amelia laughed good naturedly at him. "Oh, that reminds me. Have you managed to find the athletic complex? I, uh, might not have paid close attention on our tour yesterday."

Kiku hooked his thumb over his shoulder, back the way he had come. "Past the student hall, down at a slope. You can't see it unless you're looking down for it."

"Sweet, thanks Kiks!" She started off. "See you later!" He bowed slightly before turned away and continuing his stroll.

She didn't meet anyone else on her way the athletic center, and once she caught sight of it, she realized guiltily that she'd definitely seen it before, but had kind of incorporated the idea of a massive coliseum into the blank space of 'athletic center in Italy' in her head. Really, concrete steps led the way to a very modest, modern building and an outdoor track.

Even though she was only interested in a run, she decided to poke around the indoor facility. She whistled lowly as the cool, circulated air rushed across her skin. Since the student body didn't top a hundred, there wasn't row upon row of machines like at the rec centers of universities she'd toured back in the States, but everything was still pretty top notch. A variety of weight sets and cardio machines dotted the open area. Amelia was mildly interested in the various rings that dotted the perimeter, space for boxing, wrestling, fencing, you name it. A door led to a white, clean locker room. Another to an indoor natatorium, the air thick with the smell of chemically treated water. The final branch off from the main room opened up to a modest ice rink; it reminded Amelia of winters spent visiting extended family in Canada, of jumping on her cousin Matthew and rubbing snow into his hair.

"Very nice," she nodded, as if her vote of approval was the one that kept the building up and running.

She made her way back through the sets of doors, head down and thinking only of running until she was hungry, consuming half of the dining hall, and then collapsing on her bed.

She banged open the door to the main room with all the training equipment, and walked several feet before she ran straight into a wall.

"Fuck!" She landed on her ass. When had the architectural layout of the building decided to change?!

"You might want to be looking where you're going," a guy's voice floated down to her. She glared up at him and grit her teeth. "It is rude to knock into people, _da_?"

That had to be a new record. About five seconds and she already hated this guy. Where did he get off, talking down to her like she was eight years old? Reprimanding her like she didn't know how to function in public?

"It's also rude to not help someone up from the goddamn floor," Amelia waited for about half a second. But he didn't make a move to help her up anyway. Right. So she hefted herself up, blanching when she realized just how fucking huge this guy was.

Okay, so he wasn't like, obese. But she almost didn't blame him for not noticing her, scuttling around like an ant compared to him; he was a giant. And usually Amelia prided herself on her height (five ten made some of these international guys look like dwarves). He had to be leaning towards seven feet, with broad shoulders and thick ropes of sinewy muscles coiled around his pale arms.

"Well," Amelia chewed her bottom lip, wishing the shame-train had skipped the station. "Sorry. Hope I didn't chip your paint or anything."

"It is alright," but his smile didn't really reach his eyes. Which were a freaky-deaky violet. Like the blue-eyed gene had gotten a little tipsy when splicing his chromosomes. The effect was weird but not necessarily ugly against his otherwise pale features. "You are not very observant."

Amelia felt like stamping her foot. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you should pay more attention. Is there another connotation I am unaware of?"

"Smart-ass," she grunted. "I'm not an idiot."

He giggled. Who the fuck _giggles? _"I would hate to discourage you. But until I am proved otherwise, there is no changing my opinions."

And then he readjusted the strap on his gym bag and walked over to the boxing equipment. Amelia winced when she tasted blood. Her teeth had clamped down on the inside of her cheek. The nerve of that guy! Amelia hadn't known the Academy took representatives from _Mars_.

She blew out a stream of air from her nostrils. Fine. Whatever. It's cool. No biggie. She tried to forget about Giant Freak as she made her way out of the gym. She tried to forget that he was hitting a bag of sand and all she wanted to do was hit him really, really hard. Right in his big, fat nose. It's fine. It's finefinefine.

Amelia started running as soon as she hit the fresh-laid track. And running did help, really_. Giant Freak who?_ Putting one foot in front of the other, making sure she was breathing right so her muscles could stretch out just the way they liked, took her mind away. It almost didn't feel like she was in Italy anymore. She could pretend she was running the track outside her old high school, or warming up for the Olympics, or anything. Because she was moving and the earth was moving so fast underneath her feet she couldn't even feel it, like she was just trying to catch up as the planet raced through space.

She didn't stop running until Giant Freak came out and hiked up the steps, sweat inked black into his grey muscle shirt. Amelia tried to ignore him for as long as she could, but the blip of his presence on her radar was neon, bright and annoying. The burn of his gaze wasn't lost on her as he turned to survey the area one last time. Her lungs were grateful when she allowed them to fill to capacity with the salty, rich taste of the air as she slowed to a stop. He was turned at the top of the stairs, his bag over his shoulder and a little white towel around his neck.

"Take a picture, why don't you?" Amelia hoped her voice carried over the distance and maybe it did, because it wasn't a few seconds later that he made his way over the crest of the slope and out of her line of sight.

* * *

A loud knock woke Amelia from her second nap of the day. God damn it! She smacked her pillow. Not because someone had interrupted her, but because she wasn't supposed to be sleeping in the first place. She'd never get her sleep cycle synced to Italy-time if she kept hibernating whenever her body told her it was Virginia-night-night-time.

She scrambled to the door, trying to wipe drool on her sleeve in a place that wouldn't show.

Antonio practically fell through the doorway as soon as she opened up. "Amelia! _Mi amor!_ I feel as if ages and ages have passed! Have you been well? What did you end up naming your first born? After me, of course, yes?"

"Funnily enough, I haven't managed to conceive since we last saw one another…at dinner last night."

"You never know!" Antonio winked at her. "I was on my way to the lounges, if you wanted to come along."

Amelia rubbed the grit out of her eyes. Anything to stay awake. "Yeah, sounds okay, let's go."

"Great! Francis and Gilbert will be meeting us there!"

If Antonio noticed the way Amelia cringed, he ignored it. He continued to chatter about what the Trio had gotten up to the night before. She bit back a groan, already wishing she'd said no. It wasn't that Amelia _hated_ Gilbert or Francis. They were both okay in her book. (Unless you asked her around Maddie or Artie, and it that case: those two imbeciles were the bane of her awesome existence.) They laughed at Amelia's jokes, even the ones that Arthur said were 'tasteless and annoying', and they themselves were funny when they weren't trying to molest Canadians or pick fights with Englishmen.

It was just that…being with all three of them _together_ was like trying to keep up with toddlers on speed. Douchey toddlers on speed. Perverted, douchey toddlers on speed. Amelia appreciated the picture she was painting.

The walk to the student hall was becoming a bit more familiar. After her embarrassing first morning on campus, Amelia had made a point of studying the little foldout map of the grounds from every angle before she went to bed.

The dorms were at the very edge of campus, girls' and boys' separated by a quad. There's the science labs. A little bit further on is the lecture halls and the library. The auditorium where all of the clubs and committees would meet. Across the pathway was the Garden, a quiet little sanctuary. Next they passed the teacher's quarters. Then one of the larger buildings, dedicated to most elective classes and the remainder of classrooms that didn't fit into any other structure. Just across from that, and a few paces due south, was the student hall. Its main floor was the dining hall, while the second story doubled as a study and entertainment area.

"Here we are!" Antonio sang brightly as they topped the stairs. The pretty room was filled (but somehow not crowded) with kids laughing and enjoying their last day before classes started. Students played cards, read, or gathered around flat screen televisions broadcasting news from all over the world to discuss (or argue) about certain issues.

A few had even decided to wear their uniforms, which had been passed out during breakfast. The clean cuts of obviously very skilled tailors made the clothes really…un-uniform-like. Boys wore cream colored sweaters or cardigans with the Hetalia insignia over white dress shirts and blue plaid pants (which you could forgive if you didn't look at them long enough). The girls either wore the same scheme but with red plaid skirts or dresses. Many had tied their sweaters around their waists, leaving white shirts rolled to their elbows.

Two voices—oh yay, Francis and Gilbert—called out to Antonio in their respective languages. Amelia wasn't sure about the German, but what Francis said made Amelia and about half of the other students in earshot cringe with embarrassment.

Amelia caught sight of Kiku reading in a ring of armchairs by the far window. She sent a quick prayer to her lucky stars. She didn't feel an ounce of guilt as she left Antonio to hang with his 'buddies'; she could only handle them in small doses.

She chatted idly with Kiku, but he was really absorbed in his latest manga, so he didn't pay her much attention, which made her scowl. What could be more important that her for crying out loud!

The manga was tilted at just the right angle that Amelia could see lots of flowery looking script, close-ups on guys holding each other, getting all up in each other's business. She wondered if it was supposed to be a drama or if they were fighting but she couldn't really tell, since it was written in Japanese. The artist had gone to a lot of trouble shading in just how much these guys were blushing. Sheesh.

Amelia pulled out her phone to check her email and text messages. A few came from teachers she'd had last year, overestimating the time difference and wishing her a happy start of term. She typed a reply to Monica, who was stressing about starting college _alone, so alone, you heartless skank_. The last one was from her mom, who demanded such lengthy replies that Amelia opted to wait until she got back to room and booted up her laptop for a physical keyboard. Arthritis could wait until after she was twenty, thank you.

Amelia spent about three minutes flipping through an Italian soccer magazine before she threw it back on a side table. Just forty-five minutes ago she'd been knocked out, drooling on her pillow. But now she was too amped to tolerate sitting still or the presence of others for the moment. "See you at dinner, Kiks." He nodded but didn't look up.

She stood up, and started walking to the media area that split off from the sitting room. Two of them were in use, and she poked her head in one to say hi to a large group of her buds from orientation watching a Spanish reality show.

Amelia turned around towards the other branch off. It was basically a nondescript hallway of doors. Most of them were open, showing empty practice rooms for musicians or dancers. One door at the end of the hall was closed, but either the proofing job was a little botched, or by sheer force of will, music managed to seep through the wall like oil.

She stopped to listen for a few moments before heading back outside to the grounds to keep busy. Really, all she wanted to do was wind down the next twenty or so hours. She couldn't ever remember a time when she'd been more excited to start school. Not even her first day ever, when her mom had woken her up early to braid her hair and tell her what a big girl she was growing up to be.

That seemed pretty trivial compared to tomorrow.

She spent a few hours in the Gardens, running her hands over all the different flowers and plants that were expertly tended to. Eventually she found herself by a fountain near the athletic complex, very simple and elegant and easy for a distraction until her phone buzzed from her pocket.

**Artie: Final schedules! Final schedules being passed out in commons! **

**Artie: …Thought you ought to know *faints***

Amelia let out a sharp bark of laughter. Arthur might have been really cool if he wasn't a grouchy old man trapped in a teenager's body. But he was still alright.

* * *

"Artie! My main man." Amelia threw her arms around the Brit's shoulders and tried her best to hop onto his back. Which did not go according to plan, as she did not factor in his likelihood to buck her off.

Arthur rolled his eyes and reluctantly held out a hand to hoist her back to her feet. She took it and dramatically flicked dirt from her clothes, nose in the air. "Go on and get your courses," Artie shooed her off. "See if we have anything together."

Amelia pushed her way into the crowd of students at the table that had been set up in the student lounge since she'd last left Antonio and Kiku. Three administrators were working as fast as they could to appease the demanding hands of students. Amelia patiently waited (although it killed her to do so) because sometimes being heroic was just about making someone's life a bit easier.

_God, I'm so selfless._

It only took about five minutes for a grateful counselor to press an envelope into her hand. "Thank you! Or um, _grazie_!"

Amelia went back to Arthur, who had drawn Kiku and the Norwegian representative over all by himself. She pretended to wipe away a tear. Her little Artie making friends. They were all bent over their unfolded papers, cross examining each other for a matching class.

"What does it look like, Miss Amelia?" Kiku had taken to the habit of replacing his traditional honorifics with Western ones. Amelia knew it made him more comfortable, him being so…detached and all, but it didn't seem right that a boy her own age was calling her 'Miss'. She could only hope that habit would go away the longer she knew him.

She held out her paper so that anyone who wanted could crowd around and look for themselves.

"Anything?" She asked them.

Arthur voiced feebly that they had History of the World and Political Science together, but he'd heard Francis was in at least one of the time slots, so he remained cautious. Kiku surprised her by saying they shared language lab slots. She looked over his week, just to make sure, and nearly fainted. It seemed like every second of his day had been reserved. He had tacked on almost every science course the school had to offer along with a few diplomacy classes, and still had the nerve to say he wanted to be involved in Model UN and the mock Olympics.

"Where do you get off?" Amelia whispered, horrified.

The Norwegian student that Arthur had befriended spoke up. "We have History, Political Science, and Debate together. Some of my friends are also in those classes."

"Sweet," Amelia muttered under her breath, folding her papers over into little squares. The sound around her had gone kind of funny, barely registering in her memory before flitting away, no meanings or words. Just sounds. Standing around chatting about nothing to fill the hours before their lives started like, for real, seemed like wasted energy.

"And then I said Amelia would totally be up for a threesome. Wouldn't you Amelia?"

"Yeah, sure," Amelia said distractedly. It took a few seconds of everyone staring at her to make her realize what she'd said. "Wait, what?"

"The fuck, have you heard _anything_ we've said for the past five minutes?"

Amelia threw her hands up. "Come one, Artie, you can't blame me. I'm busy imaging how awesome college-me is going to be starting tomorrow. Sorry I didn't pay attention to you preaching about scones or whatever."

"It was crumpets, actually," the Norwegian kid said, a smile embedded in his voice instead of showcased on his face.

"Very funny, Nikolas," Arthur said bitingly. "I'll have you know everything I say is relevant and extremely—"

Amelia caught Kiku's eye and pointed a finger down her throat, pretending to gag.

"I can _see _you doing that," Arthur was positively boiling. He didn't look that intimidating though, in his little uniform.

"Oh?" Amelia feigned surprise, a hand on her chest. "I didn't think you could see anything, on account of your condition."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He doesn't know," Amelia lamented mournfully, leaning onto Kiku. He didn't jerk away, maybe because he was too busy holding in his laughter. He could see three moves ahead during a joke and let her roll with it. "Tragic, really. I've never seen a head so far up someone's ass they weren't even aware of it."

Kiku snorted loudly but managed to cover it up so well with a coughing fit that Arthur even offered him a handkerchief.

* * *

**I swear, I love writing this story so much. Thanks for all the reading and reviews, the favorites and the follows, you guys rock my socks. **

**And finally, we got to meet Ivan/Russia/Giant Freak. Amelia didn't think too much of him though. I'm so pumped that I'm finally putting the finishing touches on several later chapters, because I loved writing some of the scenes I have between Amelia and him so far. **

**Thanks again! See ya soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for everyone who is reading! Thank you for my reviewers, and all old and new story followers who just make me smile and feel all warm inside. You guys are seriously at an Amelia-Jones level of Awesomeness. Without further adieu, Chapter 5.**

* * *

Amelia's phone buzzed loudly against her cheek at six fifty on the first day of term. She jerked awake, feeling an awful swooping sensation in her stomach, thinking that maybe she'd overslept. She retrieved her phone from the edge of her pillow and unlocked it. She squinted at the bright screen, feeling a little better as she realized she had plenty of time and it was only a message from her mom.

**Have a great day, sweetheart! Bon chance! Tell us all about it later…**

Amelia yawned, stretching her neck to let loose a few cracks. She took a minute to stare at the ceiling after switching off her alarm. For the first time since she'd arrived in Italy, days ago, she didn't feel the slightest bit tired. In fact, her whole body felt like it was milliseconds away from rattling apart, nerves and excitement all jumbling up and sparking through her joints, making her fingers twitch.

She pulled on her little plaid red skirt, and tugged the cream sweater vest over her head. Her hair had done her a favor and dried almost perfectly overnight. She cringed at the little strand her stupid hairdresser back home had cut too short; she must have slept on it wrong, because no amounts of re-combing or water would coax it back down.

"Are you ready for this?" Amelia did her best announcer impression in the bathroom mirror.

Her stomach gave an affirmative rumble. "Aye, aye, capt'n," she saluted, stopping by the door to grab her school bag. The hallway was just starting to chirp with the activity of the other girls bustling around as they hurried to get ready for breakfast. Amelia was passing room 3 when a combo bang and a bright flash threatened permanent blindness.

Amelia reacted much more calmly than she had two days ago: flipping the bird like her hand was on autopilot instead of jumping like a flighty cat. She had gone around for hours preaching that she was sure to have a concussion from where her head had hit the ceiling. But no, not today. "Yo, Eliza, you might want to be a bit sneakier with those candid shots. My flipping the camera off probably won't turn out to be a great pic."

Elizabeta was so far the only girl on the floor (besides Maddie, but she didn't really count, being an advisor and all) that Amelia had taken an immediate liking to. Which is to say, her Hungarian friend did not turn her nose up when Amelia talked too loudly or bragged about American sports or belched on the way to her room. And Amelia was the only girl that tolerated Eliza's bumbling charm and her tendency to turn any moment into a photo op.

Well, not the only one. There were quite a few girls from other nations that Eliza got along with on the other floors. But Amelia fancied Eliza and herself allies against the largely bitchy population of girls on floor three.

"Right," Eliza stashed her camera by the door. "Are you heading down? I think I'll go ahead and join you." Amelia flashed her a thumbs up. Damn, if she didn't feel popular. _You know that American representative? The one with all the friends? That's the one_. Amelia smirked for about half a second before Eliza threw open the door and locked it behind her, starting off towards the stairwell.

Amelia sighed. Of course Eliza could pull off the uniform.

They reached the Hall shortly, waving goodbye as Eliza went off to join a smaller, blonde girl from a country whose name Amelia couldn't remember for the life of her. Amelia zoned in on the empty space at the end of one of the five long tables. She went through the lines quickly, grabbing a few of everything. Arthur was already sitting down by the time she was done, a mug of tea clasped in his hands like a hymnal.

"Morning, Artie!" Amelia swung her legs over the smooth wooden bench. Arthur grunted, rubbing at his temples. "Classes haven't even started yet," Amelia rolled her eyes, waving over Feliciano and Kiku as they walked in. "What do you have to be stressed about?"

Arthur eyed her disdainfully, taking a sip of tea. "You were not kept up all night by Francis talking himself to sleep and someone's God-awful noise machine."

"But ocean waves always relax me," Feli commented as he settled across from them.

"Who said they were ocean waves?" Arthur spoke the words like a man defeated. Amelia noticed the slightly purplish skin under his eyes. And he'd forgotten to take out his little metal studs; Amelia could see them glinting through the strands of his hair. He looked like a vampire rock star after a hard night.

"What were they?" Kiku asked diplomatically when no one raised the question themselves.

"Snow. Howling winds. Who needs a bloody blizzard to fall asleep?"

Amelia thudded her palm against his back in what was—surely—a comforting gesture. "Maybe they were homesick."

Arthur hacked against his tea, shifting away from Amelia, trying to rub his chest and glare at her at the same time. Whoops. Maybe not so comforting.

"Well, not everyone has your _impressive_ skills of adaptation," Amelia said as peeled a banana.

"Oh, and I suppose you're a regular chameleon? Can tolerate anything, can't you?"

Antonio sat down on her other side, placing a large plate of fruit on the table. "Of course," Amelia said. She nearly deep-throated her banana; what was it about Italy that made just about _everything_ taste de-fucking-licious?

"What is happening?" Antonio asked around a mouthful of toast.

"Amelia says that she can befriend anyone." Kiku said, reaching for some cherries.

"Well..." Amelia swallowed her mouthful without chewing, trying not to gag. "I didn't necessarily—"

"I thought that was the _heroic_ thing to do," Arthur taunted. "I thought _heroes _were nice to everyone."

Amelia felt her jaw lock. She should have never mentioned her hero fetish around Arthur. In hindsight, she'd only known him a short time—how could she have possibly trusted him with that information? Stupid!

"What is your point, exactly?" Amelia stuck her tongue in her cheek.

Arthur sneered. "Go make friends with my blizzard buddy."

His gaze shifted to the other side of the room. Amelia felt the inexplicable weight of dread in her stomach as she (and everyone else) followed his line of sight. _It can't be that ba—_

Shit. Of course Arthur had to have been kept up by the noise of Giant Freak.

Giant Freak, who—Amelia's eyes softened with pity—had a gift for sitting in a group while also being completely isolated. Amelia vaguely knew a few of the students around him. Most were from Eastern European or Asian countries, and you'd think there would be a sense of comradely; 'no one left behind' and all that. But he didn't fit anywhere. It seemed like everyone was trying their best to lean away from him without making it obvious. The only kid who seemed comfortable was Yao, the Chinese representative. Then again, Yao didn't give a fuck about anything.

Amelia straightened her shoulders. "Fine," she said snottily. She stood up and started walking over. At least no one knew that she'd been a bitch to him the other day. But he'd been a bitch too, so maybe he had forgotten about it. A few days seemed like a nice statute of limitations for first impressions. Besides, they were mature, educated adults.

A few people smiled at Amelia as she approached the table. "Hey Toris," she nodded at the Lithuanian representative. A real sweetheart. He'd helped her move the little couch in her dorm room when she hadn't been able to find Antonio or Ludwig. He blushed as she came to a stop. _Shame he's so shy. _

"Hi Amelia," his voice was a little shaky. He was twisted at a weird angle to make sure he faced her fully. And didn't have to look at the person beside him. Amelia noticed he was sitting right next to Intended Befriending Target (because future friends did not call each other Giant Freak). _Now or never!_

A weird squeaking noise, almost like a warning (_weird_), came from the direction of Toris' mouth as Amelia reached over and tapped Target's back. Target stiffed, Amelia saw him grab a napkin from his lap to swipe at his face before he turned to her.

"Hello," Amelia said, lifting a hand to wiggle her fingers at him.

He raised a thick, platinum blonde eyebrow. "_Privet_," he said dully.

"Russian, yeah? Cool man," Amelia scrambled to latch onto a topic, any topic, to at the very least be able to tell Arthur she tried. "_Kak dela__?_"

_Target is not too impressed with elementary Russian_, Amelia noted. Indeed, his eyes did not spark in interest like others who had been swayed by Amelia's attempts of speaking to them in their native tongue.

"_C__hto ty khochesh?"_ He said impatiently. Amelia struggled vainly to connect the sounds coming out of his mouth with words.

"Ehhhhehe," Amelia laughed weakly, trying not to cringe. The expectation of getting on friendly terms with him and rubbing it in Arthur's face seemed very, _very_ unattainable all of the sudden. "Well I was…"

Amelia wanted to have an out of body experience and kick herself in the head. _You were _what_ exactly?_ In the neighborhood? Wanted a chat? Wondering why he needs a blizzard to fall asleep? _Those suck, he won't want to fall at my feet proclaiming life-long friendship with that crap._

Shit, and now he looked like he was getting really annoyed. Maybe those around him weren't so much ignoring him as trying to avoid _this_, of having him look at you like you were just a bug he was deciding if he wanted to smash or not. It made her feel totally un-heroic.

"If you don't mind," he stood suddenly, and Amelia had to jump back to keep from getting in his way. "I must be getting to class."

And of course everyone who had crowded into the hall before an early class were starting to file out. Her own table was half empty, and only Feli was waiting for her.

She didn't say anything as he gathered his bag and exited. But as soon as the door closed behind him, she stuck her tongue out in his direction.

Amelia started stomping back to the table, not in a mood she'd wanted to start off her first class of the year with. Feli tilted his head to the side. "Did you not make friends?"

"No, I don't think I did," Amelia huffed. "But that's his loss, I guess." She smirked at Feli, feeling a bit more like herself as he chuckled at her.

"Besides, it's only a matter of time, right? No one can resist my charms for long." Amelia puffed out her chest as Feli and she made their way towards their classes. She wasn't entirely sure if she meant it, though. Big Russian had kind of pissed her off, and in the now two instances they'd met, made her tongue trip up in her mouth. Which was totally not awesome.

"Ve, at least you tried," Feli said as they approached the lecture halls. "It was nice of you."

"Yeah," Amelia waved him off towards his art class as she turned a hallway to go to current events. But it didn't seem nice now that she looked at it: not making the best impression a few days earlier and then approaching him like it had never happened. Like he was supposed to fall over her because she decided that since her friend had pushed her buttons, she would give him the time of day. _Whatever, time to regroup and rethink this whole Befriending business later._

* * *

Wrong. Dead wrong. She could see his stupid towering head from the little window looking into her class. Amelia fought to keep the smile on her face. She grit her teeth. _You are the United States_, she told herself as she pushed into the small classroom. She passed monitors and pretended to be interested in the muted news reels that were running on them. _No Russian bastard gets YOU down, no sir. _

There were still a few seats left open out of the fifteen or so desks, albeit most of them were located around the Russian. Hell no, Amelia decided. It would be kind of stupid to just waltz up to him again. She nearly fist-pumped when she saw one last seat, far, far away from him. There also might have been some panicking kid from Yugoslavia trying for the spot, but Amelia snagged it before him.

"You snooze, you lose, pal."

She almost felt bad as he wandered back towards the other empty desks, forced to be a satellite of the Russian. But then she relaxed back into her seat. Oh well.

Most of the students around her were silent, backs stick-straight as they waited for the arrival of their professor. All of them had paper or laptops up and at the ready, like their teacher would announce a research theory the second he entered the room.

A cute little guy on Amelia's left shyly introduced himself as Tino, and they started chatting about their schedules and the weather. It turned out he was one of Nikolas' friends, and she would be seeing him later in the day. Eventually—five minutes after class was supposed to start—their professor kicked the door open, balancing a stack of political textbooks and several newspapers on a briefcase.

"Alright! I am Mr. Adnan. Welcome to Current Events." Their professor wheeled around, smacking his hands together as soon as he deposited the large load on his desk. He adjusted the fez on his head. Amelia wondered if it was for the sake of the international environment or if he actually thought it was _cool_. "Nobody move, I am passing out a chart for attendance and so I won't be asking your name about fifty times. Fill in your name, it is where I expect you to sit for the remainder of the semester."

The Yugoslavian student whimpered.

As the chart made its way around the room, Amelia and Tino geared up to tackle the absurd amount of world news sources Mr. Adnan was writing on the board. His job was relatively easy: after the approved sources, he wrote a notice for a five page analysis of a current event due in one week, and picked up a newspaper and threw it at the nearest student's head.

"You! Pick a headline!"

The student stuttered a few times, taken off guard. Partially because the paper was in Cantonese.

"Stupid!" Mr. Adnan retrieved the paper and threw it again. It landed on the desk of a girl who lived on Amelia's floor. Amelia was pretty sure she was from Taiwan, and wasn't very surprised when she snapped open the paper and said, "The Hong Kong market is in its longest streak of high openings in fourteen months."

The seating chart reached Amelia, and as a few representatives started a tentative discussion on the current state of the Asian markets, she jotted down her name in the spot next to Tino's. Before she passed it on though, she checked Giant Freak's spot. It was just morbid curiosity. That's it!

Ivan Braginski, printed neatly, with tiny, cramped letters.

She stole a quick peek at him. Right. That was a lot easier than Giant Freak. Maybe this was the only class that they shared. She could hope. People could have other focuses besides diplomacy, after all.

"He is an odd one, isn't he?" Tino whispered to her, noticing where her eyes were.

"Yeah, a little," Amelia said, forcing her attention back to Mr. Adnan, who had settled his butt on his nice desk and started to talk loudly over Toris about the state of the Chinese economy.

* * *

Amelia was not so lucky after lunch. After having to stay behind and console Arthur, who had just gotten out of a lecture and was irate about something or another Francis had done, she was pretty sure she broke a few laws of physics to get to the lecture hall where her speech and debate classroom was located on time.

By this time of the day, she generally knew who to expect in her classes. She didn't have a lot of names down, but Tino would be there, along with his friends Matthias and Nikolas, a few of her friends from South of the border, and Ludwig was sitting quietly near the top row when Amelia burst in the door a few moments before class started.

But the only empty seat was…

Of course.

Braginski didn't acknowledge the scraping chair beside him or Amelia once she had deposited herself into it. He was busy writing something down in a notebook that he hadn't had in the morning classes they'd shared. Curious. Their chairs (lucky Amelia) where connected to the same table, more workspace than desk. At least she could pretend to lean over and fix a zipper while she tried to read his writing. Which proved to be impossible, Amelia fumed as she leaned back up. _Stupid Cyrillic. _

"I assure you, my private thoughts would not interest you at all," Braginski's writing didn't falter as he made the accusation in his deceptively soft voice.

Amelia fought the instinct to squeak at being caught. Her respect for her grandmother skyrocketed. After a few too many Sherries, she'd let it slip she _might_ have spied against the Soviets when she was a member of the New York City Ballet.

It was harder than it seemed.

"You're probably right," Amelia scoffed. She didn't need to add a witty comeback she thought pleasantly as he paused for the first time. _Oh yeah, big guy. Amelia can play that game too. _The game being of course, that with the right tone, the perfect inflection, 'you're probably right' might as well have been translated '_your personal thoughts _probably_ amount to shit and you're _probably_ a waste of a carbon-based life form'_. Rosetta Stone doesn't teach you that.

It didn't seem to affect him as much as Amelia had hoped. He only locked her with a dead stare and said, "I see," with his little smile that made Amelia want to hit him.

Their teacher gave them free reign for most of the class, time to get to know each other as they listed possible topics for debate assignments. Which they would have to do _together_. The day kept getting better and better.

"What about gay marriage?" Amelia said. She spun her pencil across their workspace.

"What about it?"

"I don't know, didn't Russia, like, pass a whole bunch of anti-gay legislation a while back?"

"So?"

"So…"

"The United States is not very tolerant in gay-rights legislation either, you know."

Amelia rubbed the heels of her hands deep into her eye sockets.

"Okay. Nuclear defense?"

Braginski thought for a second and then nodded. Amelia scribbled it down next to _Security Council Veto _and _Healthcare_.

"Election?"

"Seems kind of mundane," Amelia said.

"You _are _familiar with the American system of electing officials are you not?"

"Ooooh yeah, forgot that no one does it better than the first representative democracy," she hummed Hail to the Chief as she wrote.

"Is that why you have one of the lowest voting turnouts for national elections in the modern democratic world?" Braginski's tone was too icy to be playful. It was like sticking a pin in Amelia's good mood balloon. Which had already deflated considerably over the course of the day.

"I'll be quite honest with you," Amelia said as she pointedly marked out their last entry. "You suck. You suck big time."

His only response was his stupid smile. She really hated that smile. It made the air thick with the obviousness of how little he thought of her.

"What about women's rights?" Amelia said after a pause.

"Don't you have the upper hand in that case?"

"Are you saying that because I'm a _woman_?" Amelia added a dramatic flair, as if scandalized.

"_Nyet_, because I am a man." His conviction gave a certain depth to his voice that was usually missing. "Anything I say against it or even for it could be perceived as bigoted and unintelligent."

"Did the possibility that maybe you _are_ an unintelligent bigot cross your mind?"

Braginski scoffed, and wrote something down in that stupid notebook from which she'd been barred from peeking.

"What, did you think of something? Come on, Braginski don't hog all the ideas here."

"If I wanted you to know, you would know," he said curtly.

She grit her teeth, wishing she was further back so she had more than 'Welcome, Class of Rhome!' scribbled on the board to distract her. Amelia was reminded of one of Miss Westin's emails from the past couple of months, something akin to: **You'll be pushed by others to expand your definitions of tolerance. Please do not use difficulties of cultural or personal background as an excuse to throttle your classmates.**

It was going to be a long year.

* * *

Kiku opened up six knocks into Amelia's rendition of One Direction's _What Makes You Beautiful_ on the wood of his door. "Miss Amelia, good to have you stop by. I hope your first day was satisfactory."

Amelia shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, it was okay. Is Artie here yet?"

"Yes, if you'd like to come in—"

"NO!" Arthur's voice was sharp and loud from inside the room. "Not with that trashy excuse of a band as your password." Amelia assumed by Kiku's shocked expression that it was Arthur who got up and slammed the door in her face.

"Arthur, that was really rude!" She almost could hear panic in Kiku's voice.

"Like I bloody care."

"Come on Artie," Amelia whined. The banging of the door had caused a few guys to poke their heads out into the hallway. She was just grateful Braginski lived on a different floor. The last thing she wanted was to be stranded in the hallway with _him._

"Oh my God, fine," she groaned. "So _stupid_."

She struggled for a second to remember something before she awkwardly tapped out (what she hoped was) the chorus to a Beatles' song.

The deadbolt slid undone and Amelia rolled her eyes. "About _fucking _time," she ground out, shoving against the door until she could finally slip in.

Kiku sat on his couch, banished from door-keeping duty by Arthur, who clicked the door shut behind her. After she cursed at Arthur a few more times, she settled next to Kiku on the sofa, and Arthur perched himself in the swivel chair.

"How was Mission Befriend the Ice King?" Arthur said.

"_Great_," Amelia drawled. "We're planning on running away together. How does a Christmas wedding sound?"

"Depends on the venue," Arthur said, smirking at her.

"Red Square. Fur parkas. Russian orphans we plan on adopting. The whole shebang."

"Lovely."

Kiku tossed her a soda and she settled on the backburner, wanting to hear all the juicy details of their first day. Arthur bemoaned that Francis had made his language lab a nightmare, and that he'd heard at least one of his classes tomorrow would feature the Frenchman. Kiku patted his back comfortingly.

Kiku himself only had one mean thing to say. He described Yao being 'extremely smart, but having the moral fibers of a slug' as he booted up his monitor, tossing Amelia a controller. Amelia figured that was about as vulgar as Kiku ever got.

A whine of want nearly escaped Amelia as the system initialized. Kiks was definitely in the know when it came to gaming. She'd read somewhere that this console didn't come out for another year and a was doubly awesome since her mom had forbidden her from bringing her Xbox, claiming that it would serve as too big of a distraction from school work. _As if._

Arthur waited patiently, his hands out for a controller, but Kiku had already selected two player mode. "Ah, Kiku, I didn't receive a hand set."

"Yes," Kiku said as he and Amelia started selecting their battle gear.

"Well…"

"Do you even know what kind of system this is, Artie?" Amelia asked, picking up on Kiku's line of reason.

"Of course I do." Both of his friends raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a bloody…Mycro Station…whatever. Play your fucking stupid game."

* * *

"Oh, hates English literature, does he?" Arthur fumed as he smashed his try onto the table Friday evening. "How can you claim to hate English literature and then sign up for classical LITERATURE!? Half of the material is nineteenth century Britons or God's sake!"

He waited for a familiar voice to pipe in, maybe hoping someone would back him up or voice concern on the absence of graphic novels in the curriculum. No such luck. What a waste. He'd been saving that outburst since his classes had been dismissed over five hours ago.

Arthur surveyed his group, most of whom had not looked up at his eruption. Antonio (didn't count—he was the frog's friend), Ludwig, Feli, Kiku, and Amelia's newer friend Tino, who sometimes stopped by for a visit from Nikolas' table.

Tino, who was trying to console a lump of dirty blonde hair slumped on the table.

"Oi," Arthur reached over to poke her. "American." No response. "What's her problem?"

"Miss Amelia is slightly distressed on the issue of the Russian representative," Kiku said immediately, not looking up from his biomechanics workbook.

"I would say it is a bit more than 'slightly'," Tino interjected.

"A bit more?" Arthur cocked his head to the side.

"Perhaps a bit more than a bit more?"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"She has not eaten yet."

"…Definitely a _bit _more, I'd say."

"Yes, a bit."

Ludwig sighed loudly. "_Mien gott_, you two are giving me a headache."

"She hasn't been like this all week," Antonio said in a more observational tone.

"She was holding out hope," Feli supplied. "That perhaps it was going to get better..."

"That what would get better, exact—"

"HE HATES ME!" Amelia's head flew up from the table. "That stupid Russian!"

"Surely it cannot be all bad," Ludwig said logically.

"He twisted my arm yesterday because we disagreed on the U.S.'s position in the Russo-Japanese War!"

Tino tapped her shoulder. "You _did_ hit him first."

"That's not the point," Amelia snarled. "It was over a hundred years ago. Why do you Europeans have to get your panties in a wad over stuff that happened centuries ago?"

Arthur coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'European, he wishes'. Everyone else except for Kiku looked away. He leaned towards Amelia and whispered loudly, "It's not their fault. Their royals were about as petty as your reality show stars."

Amelia snorted as everyone huffed indignantly. "Yeah. Ugh, I have one more class with him tonight."

"Tonight?" Arthur looked up from his salmon. "What on earth kind of lesson are you taking after dark on a Friday?" Jesus, he sounded like a parent.

"Astronomy," Amelia said dreamily. Even if Braginski was one of the only other people taking that class, it was blessedly one that was primarily composed of solo work. Wednesdays in the classroom and then long Friday nights with her baby.

Telescope, that is.

Arthur made a face. "Astronomy?"

"Classical Literature?" Antonio whined in the same mocking tone.

"Shove off."

* * *

**This ice storm is killing me. And school tomorrow is cancelled too so some R&R and comments would do wonders for my sanity. Seriously, the only thing saving me from cabin fever is working on this fic. All I had to distract myself today was editing this chapter about six times before I got sick of looking at it, split it into two parts, and decided that it's just too goddamn perfect to NOT post. Kidding, but really it was one of my _favorites_ to write. Really, all interaction between Ivan and Amelia is so fun and easy to write. They practically write themselves, which is way easy for me. I love them. Ugh. The next few updates will be out in a jiff, since I just need to start writing new material and making sure they all match up as the story progresses. R&R and my love will be forever yours. **

**And what did I tell you? Phonetic Russian would be worth it if I could be 100% sure of what I was typing. **

**According to Google Translate:**

_**Kak dela: **_**how's it going**

**_C__hto ty khochesh: _what do you want**

**But when I wrote the draft for this chapter like a month ago I had totally different translations. whatevs. **

**See you soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**You guys are literally the best. All of the activity that you've shown this story makes me so happy. Thanks so much and keep on keepin' on. I love writing this fic so it's a great weight off my chest to present Chapter 6 in the longest dead period since I've started this fic. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

A sign posted on the door of Meeting Room 2 denoted it as the temporary headquarters for the Olympic council. Amelia entered by herself, on account of her friends being wimpy shits that thought organized sports were the work of a society that stripped people of an identity for the sake of entertaining the mindless masses.

Amelia thought it was more likely that Arthur was the kid picked last in gym and didn't want to relive that in college.

Kiku had wanted to come, but he signed up to tutor for the science department on Thursday nights. Killjoy.

The room was mostly empty, with only a few other students milling around. She kind of expected that. Once the competitions were organized and posted, everyone would want to come out and try to defend their honor and whatever, but no one really wanted a part in actually deciding anything. _Thank God they have me._

"Yo!" Amelia said loudly as she got to the front of the room. A few people smiled at her, but she noticed it was not a majority.

"Hey Amelia," Toris said softly. He picked his way through people until he got to her side, apparently grateful for someone he knew.

"What's up, Tor?" Amelia flicked his shoulder playfully. "When is this shindig supposed to start?"

A blush dusted Toris' face. He brushed back a strand of his long brown hair. "I-I well Ms. Maes just handed out our basic agendas and—" he yelped almost violently when a large hand landed on his shoulder.

"_Privet_," Braginski said lightly, looking from Toris to Amelia. "Glad you could make it, Amelia."

Amelia felt her guard go up, not sure if he was being genuine or not. "Yeah, well, it's not the Olympics until the United States comes out to play."

"It definitely makes things interesting," Braginski said, face staying neutral.

The seconds were tense as they ticked by. "I'm glad at least someone who knows me is here," Toris laughed nervously after a while. "No one would bother giving me a second look if you weren't here."

Amelia sucked her teeth, drawing up an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

Toris shrugged, embarrassed. "No one would really take someone from Lithuania seriously."

_Is that really what he thinks? _A cold pool of guilt settled in Amelia's gut, and she resented its presence. It wasn't her fault she was from where she was from. But…no, Toris was smarter than that, she realized. He knew, just being at this school, that his voice counted just as much as anyone's. He just didn't believe in himself. _Damn, this boy needs a confidence boost. _

"Hey," Amelia tapped his chin, making him look up. "You're just as important as I am, or Big Guy here. You're a person right?" She paused, but he didn't volunteer a comment. "Right. You know as well as I do it doesn't matter where you're from. You're human, and you _matter_ okay? You big dummy."

She thought Toris would combust at the force of his blush.

"Very well spoken," Braginski said quietly after a moment. He shifted his gaze from the space above Amelia's head to Toris, his eyes narrowed by a millimeter as he registered the boy's red face and his fidgeting fingers in the aftermath of Amelia's words.

Toris started—Amelia did a double take. Why the fuck was he _shaking_? Did he…did he have like Tourette's or something? Jesus, you'd think Braginski was whispering his plot to murder schoolchildren, not commenting on Amelia's awesome moral speech.

"Dude," Amelia whispered. "Did you like, forget to take a pill or something?"

"I think it is time we called the meeting together, _da_?" Braginski turned and went to the front of the room. Toris' shaking subsided. He seemed to deflate considerably. _Maybe he had a seizure or something._

"Since when was Braginski put in charge?" Amelia said bitterly as everyone calmed down and sat as Braginski called order, doing exactly as they were told.

"He wasn't," Toris sighed. "Everyone just…respects him too much to not listen."

"Huh," Amelia huffed, a seed of unrest settling into her chest.

Braginski actually didn't do a bad job, if Amelia was being fair. He spoke slowly so that everyone could understand over his accent, and had some pretty okay ideas.

"Most of the games should be teamwork exercises, but some individual sports should be introduced so that people who have worked many years in a particular area can showcase their talents. We must celebrate everyone individually as well."

Amelia leaned over towards Toris' chair. "I think he's including himself in that statement. What do you think Mr. Russia's secret talent is? Figure skating? Ballet? Don't you think he'd look so _cute_ in a leotard?"

"Be quiet," Toris said, torn between being amused and horrified.

"Did you have something to add, Toris?" The room seemed smaller as Braginski cut into their exchange. Everyone stopped, and Amelia didn't like the weight of their unappreciative stares.

"I did," Amelia said, coming to the rescue when Toris turned into a stuttering wreck. "Yeah, uh, how are we gonna pick teams?"

"Lottery. It's what all the other branches do."

"Did you have another method?" Some tan kid with a headband spoke up. "If the All-American _Chica_ has another idea, we'd _love_ to hear it."

"No," Amelia played off the break in her voice, swallowing back her argument.

"Thank you, Alvarez," Braginski cut into the exchange with the suddenness and intensity of an ice storm. The whole room quieted. "I'm sure if Amelia had an opinion, she would have no problem voicing it. Loudly." Amelia rolled her eyes as a few people chuckled good-naturedly.

Alvarez muttered something lowly in Spanish that he was _lucky _Amelia wasn't close enough to hear. _What a bitch_. It wasn't like she thought lowly of kids (she avoided looking at Toris as she thought it) of a weaker disposition. She didn't think of winning _all _of the time.

The meeting ended a few minutes later, and Amelia couldn't stand up fast enough. Being lectured to in Russian-slurred English was not her cup of tea.

"God, don't look," Toris hissed under his breath. "Just hurry. Ivan is looking at you."

"Little old me?" Amelia teased, turning her shoulders and dragging a finger down her lower lip. "What on _earth _for?" She tilted her chin, noticing that indeed Braginski was eyeing her as he shifted his books around his bag. He seemed unsure of something, looking from Toris to her like he was trying to solve a complicated math problem in his head.

She winked at him, mostly for the funny reaction it seemed to elicit from Toris. "Amelia! Calm down, you might burst into flames or something."

"Holy Hell, Toris, he isn't like, cursed or anything."

"Whatever, let's just get out of here. He gives me the creeps."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

* * *

Amelia reeled her fist back, and pictured Mr. Adnan's face crumpling instead of the sharp numbing sting of the boxing bag. She'd worked out a great distressing method halfway through the fourth week of term. She took note of everything that pissed her off, and after her daily workouts, would punch the living shit out of the boxing equipment. Down the list, one punch each.

"Shit!" she shook out her hand, scowling at the bag. It hadn't moved, which didn't do much for her ego. But she no longer felt malice towards Adnan's ten page report on the Social and Ethnic Conflicts of North Africa, so that was nice.

She squatted down to her bag, where a little notebook was sitting open. She grabbed a sharpie with her non-tingly hand and tugged the cap off with her teeth. A thick line soon obscured _Adnan's stupid fascination with the people of North Africa_. "Right," she murmured to herself, looking down the list. _The way Braginski says Ameeeelea. The way Braginski smirks when he makes a higher grade than Ameeeelea. Kiku won't tell me the cheat code on level seven of _Nightmare Avenger VI. _Braginski 'accidentally' threw out the left-over red velvet cake the Austrian representative gave me. Braginski giggles. _

Amelia cracked her neck, closing her eyes to prepare herself. Braginski punches were killer.

"Good evening."

Amelia cursed under her breath. Speak of the motherfucking devil.

She opened her eyes and her vision was filled too much Russian.

"What the _fuck_, dude?" Amelia squawked as she teetered away, arms spinning to keep her upright. "Have you ever heard of personal space?"

Braginski smiled his insincere smile. He was hunched over his knees to be at her eye level. "My apologies. I thought it would be funny to scare you."

"Was it?" Amelia growled at him as they both stood up.

Braginski cocked his head to the side, like a puppy. "I…do not think so."

"What a waste of an experiment," Amelia snorted as she quickly reached out with her foot to kick her notes shut.

"_Da_. I believe amusement on your part would have made it more enjoyable."

Amelia made a non-committable grunting noise. It was running close to seven o'clock on a Tuesday. They were the only ones left. Usually she and Braginski worked out daily, but they had others around them, satellites that ensured they didn't have to interact. Though it would mean she didn't finish off her list, she opened her mouth to make an excuse to leave when Braginski decided to continue speaking.

"Although your interpretation of boxing provided enough pleasure for the evening."

"How you wound me," Amelia couldn't help the playfully dramatic tint that crept into her voice.

Braginski shrugged one shoulder, and the gesture was so normal, what she might have seen back at her old high school rather than at a world academy, that she nearly smiled. For some reason, it made him annoyingly human. And humans were a lot easier to take on than icy representatives.

She punched him in the chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but surprising enough that he let out a soft 'oomph'. "How was that, Ruski?" Amelia taunted.

Braginski regained his balance almost immediately. His eyes, usually flat, unresponsive disks, focused, engaged and narrowed. Amelia had the distinct feeling that he was actually _looking _at her, not just staring at the space she occupied. And it felt almost…more than that. Like he'd found something worth seeing. Completely—

"Awful," he commented dryly. He arranged his hand into a fist, and brought it near her face, forced her to see the tendons as they flexed, the light, nearly invisible blonde hair that dusted his knuckles. "Like this," he said. And punched her in the shoulder.

"Motherfucker!" Amelia screeched, clamping her left hand over the deadened, throbbing area. "What's your problem, Braginski?"

"I was merely demonstrating. It was not even half force." he said fairly. "Also, you will break your thumb if you keep up like you were."

"I'm calling the embassy," Amelia whined. "Jesus Christ, what are you _made_ of? _Granite_?"

"No, though I appreciate your comments on my physical prowess."

Amelia snorted, rubbing her shoulder harshly for a second to try and work back a little feeling into it before putting her hands back on her hips. "Yeah, because punching girls is _so_ admirable."

"You are not a girl," Braginski said without missing a beat. "You are a woman. And women are quite capable of fighting their own battles, I think. You are very capable. But very stupid sometimes. And you should not be treated differently if you—_stupidly_—decide to hit me. But, I am sorry," he added softly, quickly. "If I hurt you just now."

A small part of Amelia's brain screamed that there was a way to continue this argument. But she was too busy laughing to take any notice of it.

"What is the matter with you?" Braginski's voice hitched a little in concern.

"You," Amelia wheezed eventually, straightening back up, smiling. "I was just thinking that my dad would absolutely love you for that."

Braginski's shocked silence lasted long enough for Amelia to fully acknowledge the validity of her statement. Her dad, who gave her action figures instead of a Barbie, made her a toy sword and took her on Crusades to local parks, wiped the dirt from her face from playing Cowboys and Indians, and who sat her on his knee and told her how she would live to see the centennial of women's suffrage. Yeah, he would _love _a shmuck like Braginski.

Which kind of made her hate him a little more. But at the same time, a lot less.

* * *

**To: starspangled_hero **

**From: g-jones -=-=.net**

**Subject: Greetings Spawn**

**Sent: 06:12:00 18 Sept**

**Hey Sweetheart, **

**How's it going over there in Rome, stranger? We're doing okay in the States too, if you cared anymore. The government collapsed and has been replaced by a tyrannical overlord who forces us to watch Masterpeice Theatre and rewrite books in our new official language, Farsi. **

**Just kidding. But we are renting out your room to a homeless man. **

**He keeps it much cleaner than you ever did. **

**Are you doing well in your classes? Work is boring. Stay on staff at that Academy like your smart Canadian friend. Never leave. Work sucks, sweetie. But I do find a certain amount of joy in knowing that I won't be dying in debt because of that school of yours. **

**Mom sent you a care package, so make sure you send her a text when you get it. Or them. I swear, your mother doesn't know what to do since you flew the coop. I KNEW we should have had more than one measly kid who would leave us eventually. Don't worry though, your mom and me and the homeless fellow will get through it. **

…**No boys are giving you trouble, right? You remember your judo? That yellow belt has to be worth something against those defiling creatures. **

**Kidding aside Amelia, I really hope you're enjoying yourself. Even if it is…with…a boy. Keep your grades up, though. I'm not having the United States of America flunk out of college. **

**Write back soon,**

**Dad**

**To: g-jones -=-=.net**

**From: starspangled_hero **

**Subject: Hai Pops**

**Sent: 19:07:51 20 Sept**

**Hey Dad, **

**Yes. I got the care package. All three of them. Tell mom to put a little bit more faith in FedEx, because I don't know what to do with eight pounds of Rolos and Swedish Fish. Btw, the Swedish representative does NOT like them, and asking him was not 'cute' like mom said it would be. That kid is scary. Nothing the awesome me can't handle, of course, but he nearly makes my friend Tino cry every time they have a debate. And he doesn't even say anything most of the time. So Tino loses by default when he runs out of the classroom. **

**School is going really good. I even had my first Olympic meeting. And last week one of my buds Francis hosted the first Model UN. I think it would have been really successful if we'd gotten around to the agenda. There was a lot of shouting and crying and throwing things. Things that wimpy British kids should not be able to throw over ten rows of seats to a French-occupied podium. Things like potted plants and tables I thought were bolted into the freaking floor. I think Arthur might be a superhero or something.**

**I think you'd like it here Dad, my professors are really cool, and they like me too, because they don't yell at me when I'm being loud in class like stupid h/s teachers because they know how brilliant I am. I know parent week is at the start of the second semester, but I can't wait for you and mom to come up and meet Artie and Kiks and Antonio and Maddie and EVERYONE because they would only benefit meeting my coolio parents. **

**No dad. No boys are giving me trouble. I mean, there's this one kid who thinks he's so much smarter than me. And…I don't know he kind of is. But in a totally non-awesome way. He's a strange bird, as Artie says. I don't know what a bird is, but it must be hipster-English slang for 'Amelia's arch rival'. **

**Okay, dinner starts soon. Tonight they're serving hotdogs! I finally talked the cafeteria staff into it! **

**Love you Dad! Say hi to mom for me. **

**Amelia **

**p.s. you're kidding about the homeless guy, right?**

* * *

"I refuse."

"Artie, you have to."

"Do _not_."

"Stop being such a baby."

"You can't make me."

"Antonio did it."

"He's stupid."

"Ludwig did it."

"The Kraut probably can't tell the difference from the other garbage he likes."

"Even Kiku did it."

"Kiku will do anything you ask him to."

"Yes. Because he loves me. Unlike you."

"I'm not doing it."

"Just one bite."

"No."

"I'll never talk to you again if you don't eat it."

"I can live with that."

"_Lies_. You'd probably cease to function."

"I think I could get on just fine."

"You've become dependent on my steady supplements of awesome into your daily life. Stopping now would probably kill you."

"A hero's death—ow! You bitch! Civil people don't _stab_ their friends with cutlery!"

"Eat the _fucking_ hot dog, Artie."

…

"You're fucking crazy."

* * *

"We are nearing the eight week mark of the term," Ms. Maes, the speech and debate professor, spoke over the chatter at the end of class. "Hopefully by this time, you've gotten to know your partners well enough to be able to thrash them in debates and not feel bad about it." Amelia avoided looking at Braginski. Any 'thrashing' on their parts were certainly not attached to guilt.

"So for our next debate, which you would know if you'd read the syllabus," she paused to eye them with a playful criticism, "you will not be tackling modern issues, but addressing a conflict your countries have encountered in the past. We must know what was once important to us. But also know that we've overcome it. Because no matter how huge or important this issue once looked, it was not the end of the world, and you all are still standing here. Class dismissed."

Amelia pushed her chair back quickly, wanting to get back to her dorm and get a nap in before her language lab slot later that day. A hand stopped her, gripping her forearm just hard enough to make her struggle.

"Calm down." Braginski wasn't one to roll his eyes, but his voice sort of did it for him. "I was wondering something."

"What?" she finally shook him off. Ludwig and Tino kept back a little. She waved them on, _I got this,_ and they filed out, leaving them alone.

"You know what we would debate about, yes?"

"Jeez…a historic conflict that the representative of the United States of America and the Russian Federation could go head to head on? Let me think…"

"The sarcasm was unneeded I think," Braginski said.

She mumbled something about his _face _being unneeded as he continued, "We will argue the Cold War."

"That's great, can I leave now?"

Braginski looked at the floor, and then near the hem of her sweater. She tried to stifle a giggle. Was Braginski fucking _nervous_?

"I was wondering, since we could ask Ms. Maes now if you agreed…if we would switch positions."

Amelia did giggle at the innuendo. But then she straightened when the weight of what he was saying. "But, I have capitalism."

"_Da._"

"And you—but _you're_ the commie."

"_Former_ commie, please," Braginski acted affronted, which Amelia (weirdly) would have thought funny if he wasn't asking something so abysmal.

"Why would I switch my argument?" She whined. "Capitalism is…that's just—the United States is fucking capitalist okay?"

Braginski looked her in the eye. "It may surprise you, Amelia, but at one point people argued for communism. They fought and they died believing it was the best chance society had to be decent, fair human beings. Isn't it worth it to find out why so many people believed it? Not from attacking my argument but defending yours?"

Amelia was positive an argument would fall out of her mouth if she kept it open long enough. _God…goddamn you fucking ugh. _

"Also, it would be nice to be on the winning side of our arguments for a change." Fucking liar. He won just as many debates and he knew it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Braginski," Amelia growled, but there was no bite to it. Braginski was being strangely civil. Reasonable, even. It was…different.

It only took a few minutes to convince Ms. Maes that the switch of position would be beneficial. She had half a mind to require the change as part of the curriculum, but instead decided on giving them extra credit. "Besides," she'd said, giggling from behind her desk. "It'll be so _surprising. _Dramatic, yes? I love it. I _love it_."

"You did good, Braginski," Amelia managed to say as they finally started their exit. She sidestepped, blocking his path. Made him look at her. "Don't think this means I'm not like, prepared or anything, though. I'm not gonna fuck this up just because I'm on the losing side. You think you have an advantage because your country's had both?"

He didn't comment at first, but she saw the momentary flare of life behind his eyes. _Gotcha. _"I was thinking…" He smiled.

The breath nearly left Amelia's lungs. Because it wasn't that stupid ghost of a smile that held nothing, an inspiration of uneasiness. It wasn't a full, tooth-baring grin either. But she could tell that _something_ other than a wall of ice was behind it; when he _smiled_, the skin around his eyes crinkled, his violet eyes became glinting jewels. Like fire coaxed from ash.

"I was thinking that my grandfather would have died to see this day."

Amelia remembered to inhale. _Christ, just a smile_. "You arguing for the cappies? Did he not like them that much?"

"_Nyet_, not like that. He…" his eyes shifted away a little, like he was remembering something. "He told me once, when I was small, that all he wished for in the world was that I would not be taught to hate people I did not know, as he had been. He lived a long time, and so much of that time was spent living in blind fear, fueled by hate that didn't have a source. It ate away at him until his last breath."

A silence descended. "He sounds like a wise man," Amelia awkwardly thrust into the space between that was usually filled with words. "Troubled, I guess, but wise."

The fire in his eyes died a little, but Amelia could tell it was not in response to what she had said. He'd realized this…lapse or whatever. He reeled it back, smothered it like the heel of a boot to the head of a glowing cigarette.

"I apologize," he cleared his throat. "I did not mean to speak of such personal things when I suggested this."

"It's, uh, it's fine," Amelia tried desperately to maneuver her way out of this minefield of a conversation. "It's bad to keep those things locked up, right? Not if you really wanted to say them."

He eyed her strangely. "I suppose. Good luck preparing for our debate."

Amelia flashed a thumbs up. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm going to commie the pants off of you."

_Fuck_. What little was left of Braginski's smile faltered a bit.

_Abort! Stop thinking of him without pants! ABORT! _

"Or, uh, keep your pants on. Commie-free trousers. Preferably. Yes, please refrain from disrobing. Even if I'm kicking your ass during the debate. Which was what I was trying to imply."

"…"

"Good day, sir."

She turned on her heel and walked as fast as possible, only barely talking herself out of flinging herself off the nearest rooftop.

* * *

**They're so adorable. **

**Thanks again for all the people reading and reviewing. It justifies me spending an absurd amount of time focusing on this stuff. I love hearing that everyone is picking up on the small little plot details that for the most part play other roles as the story progresses. Or just hearing that you enjoy it in general. **

**S/O to crazysquidgirl for noticing the Doctor Who easter egg in the last chapter. you're too cool **

**I like to think that Arthur actually liked the hotdog Amelia forced on him. But he'd never admit it. That dialogue-only bit was a lot different than how the rest of the narrative is (and so is the email exchange between Amelia and her dad) but I hope it was as fun to read as it was to write. That probably won't be a normal thing, but I needed some filler and thought it would be good for a few laughs.**

**See you soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, sorry for the wait! Winter Break wasn't the easy ride of getting presents and all the time I wanted working on this story that I had hoped it would be. But anyway, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and everything else. It really means a lot. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Amelia, you can't sleep in the library."

"I'm not _sleeping_ in the library, Gil. I'm _preparing._"

Gilbert groaned. "Look, I'm all for you nipping that Russian in the bud. Like, I remember when Anya and Alfred went all Cold War on each other during my first year. And all they did was _coach_ the Russian and American kids, since they were advisors. It gets way intense and I can't wait to hear about your assured victory. But dude, it's like midnight. I'm only here because my bird told me to get you back to bed."

"So now you're babysitting just because Maddie told you?" Amelia highlighted a section of the Russian textbook an Eastern European language tutor had given her.

"Well it wasn't Gilbird." He went back to bouncing a rubber ball against the leg of the desk she was studying at. "Besides, the awesome _me_ does not babysit. I'm simply allowing you to be near me until I decide to forcibly kick drag your ass back to your room."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You're totally whipped."

Gilbert cocked his head, unfamiliar with the saying.

"She doesn't even like you. But you do whatever she wants." _And a lot of what she _doesn't _want_, Amelia thought, remembering all of Maddie's grievances towards Gilbert.

"Dude," Gilbert's smile returned, full force. A kind of cocky assuredness that Amelia seriously admired him for. He was like an annoying older brother she never had. "Don't worry. One of these days, it's gonna happen. Just like you and that one dude."

Amelia dropped her pencil, twisting in her chair to look down at him. "What 'one dude'?"

Gilbert's expression could be translated exactly as _are you joking. _"Your Russian dude. The creepy one."

Amelia's eyes widened. "That's…" Amelia crossed her hands in front of her. "Man, that's totally off. We're not—I mean. No." She was only blushing because of the sheer absurdity of it.

Gilbert laughed. "Shit, man, I'm just busting your balls. But seriously, are you done?"

Amelia turned back to her mess of notes and nodded. Pages on Marxist ideals, a fucking novel of counterarguments, and her recently translated finale. Gil had called this debate 'her assured victory' but Amelia knew differently. The switch was cool, but it would mean that she lost in the long run. But it was cool enough that she could forgive that.

* * *

Amelia's phone buzzed around two o'clock that morning.

**Artie: how many swears do you think I can get in 140 characters?**

**Amelia: stop having twitter fights with francis**

**Artie: 19. 19 would be the correct answer**

**Amelia: with American spelling you could prob get 23. At least**

**Artie: don't just…don't**

_Minutes later._

**Artie: the war is WON. the war is MINE **

**Amelia: you guys are awful**

**Artie: says the girl who unofficially declared war on China**

**Amelia: Yao was asking for it**

* * *

Amelia sighed. It had been a normal enough Friday night until _he _decided to barge in on her.

Who did he think he was? Of course he thought he could do this to her. Coming in and making her life twice as complicated and much more susceptible to migraines.

"What the hell, Antonio?"

He didn't respond, just sighing mournfully from the spot where he'd collapsed after bursting into her room. "Tonio?" She said softly, squatting next to him. What was the protocol on this? What if he refused to move? She had astronomy in a few hours and girls weren't allowed to have visitors past nine. Should she roll him out into the hallway? Hope that no one noticed a boy waltzing out of her room in the wee hours of the night? She poked at his hair. He swatted her away.

"It hurts," he moaned.

"Do you…want me to take you to the nurse or something?"

Antonio smacked his hands on the floor, pushing himself up slowly to look at her with so much contempt it made her skin crawl. "No, I do not need to go to the _nurse_," he said coldly. "I _need _a friend who actually knows of my struggle and strife instead of obsessively working to destroy her sexy rival."

"I am _not_ obs—"

Antonio folded himself upright into sitting Indian style. He held a hand up to stop her. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say. But seriously, _chica_, you've missed a few things while you've been off trying to plan the second take down of the Soviet Union."

Amelia felt a little smug. Braginski may be an ass, but this idea was too cool. _Oh, right. Supposed to be feeling sorry for Antonio_.

"I'm sorry buddy," she said. And she meant it. It felt like over the past few weeks she hadn't made much time for him, which kind of sucked, since he was technically her oldest friend here. "Come on, what's wrong. You said something about hurting."

"My heart," Antonio said pitifully, closing his eyes. "It's been stolen."

Amelia almost laughed. She'd forgotten that as much as the Academy was trumped up to be this place of strictly learning, of experience, that they were still teenagers—still capable of loving and hating at the drop of a hat. It was refreshing, she realized, to know that they hadn't changed all that much.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Amelia patted his back. She really didn't have any experience to support that, though. What heart-stealing awful, or romantic? Both? Shit.

Antonio perked up a little, glad he was finally getting all the attention he desired. "Love at first sight. Completely selfish of him, but it cannot be undone you know?"

Amelia nodded dumbly, trying her best to hurdle over that unexpected pronoun. _Him_. "You're crushing on…a guy?" She hoped it sounded more inquisitive than offensive. It wasn't like she was secretly in love with Antonio or homophobic, but the fact that he swung for the other team had completely flown over her head. "Uh, who?"

"You know Feliciano told us he would introduce us to an older brother?"

"Oh my God, you're in love with Feli's big bro?"

"Lovino," Antonio said dreamily, fixing the ceiling with a look Amelia had only seen him reserve for tomato risotto. "Pretty name, isn't it? Pretty eyes, too. And the sexiest ass you've _ever_ seen."

"Okaaay," Amelia said quickly. A hot flush was creeping near the collar of her shirt. It was weird that she could think things like that but be uncomfortable with them being said out loud. "We get off campus privileges a few weeks before the winter break, are you taking him out?"

"Maybe," Antonio seemed to rip himself back into reality, looking sheepish as he twisted his hands together. "Or, maybe not."

"Why the hell not, man?"

"Well," he chuckled nervously. "He might, uh…strongly dislike me at the moment."

Amelia had a hard time believing that. "Why the fuck would _anyone_ hate you, Antonio?"

"I might have, ah, declared my affections a bit…prematurely."

Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him. "How prematurely?"

"About two minutes after Feli introduced us."

Amelia nearly had to go to astronomy cross-eyed she'd rolled them so hard.

* * *

She eventually got Antonio to go back to his own dorm, and quite nicely she might add, thought of sending a warning text ahead to Kiku and Arthur.

**Tonio's lovestruck. Might be in moping and/or celebratory mood tonight.**

It didn't take long for her inbox to beep.

**Artie: What the fuck is his problem? Why's he singing?**

**Artie: goddammit, the frog's in on it too**

**Artie: fuck me, I'm not sleeping tonight**

And from Kiku:

**Kiks: It would seem Mr. Lovino declined Mr. Antonio's proposal of marriage.**

**Amelia: omg, he didn't!**

**Kiks: Not to worry, it does not seem to have deterred him. Have a nice time stargazing with your Russian. **

**Amelia: jump off a bridge :)**

She locked her phone and rubbed at her eyes. Damn. Several weeks of term hadn't seen a major improvement in the US-Russian relations category. They got along 'fine', having discussions in class and the odd, forced conversation when they tried to be civil in their various meetings or at the gym. There was still that palpable dislike between them, a block of frigid air that tinted their interaction with insincerity.

Tino swore up and down that he'd heard Braginski was connected with the Mafia back in Moscow, which Toris supported full heartedly. He gave excellent testimony that the Russian spent a lot of time checking his private mail box, as if expecting something really important. Like say…the pinky of a mob enemy.

Kiku had immediately chided Amelia and Tino on their conspiracy talk during lunch. "Just because he is concerned about his parcels doesn't mean he's a career criminal."

"I bet Kiku's Yakuza, looking out for his Mafia brethren." Amelia stage whispered, making Kiku fix her with a glare.

"Keep it up and you will no longer be invited to video game night."

"WHAT?"

So, to say the least, Amelia was not terribly psyched to spend ninety minutes charting stars in Braginski's general vicinity. But Mars was supposed to be especially bright that evening, so there was that to look forward to.

It wasn't too far of a walk to the Gardens, where Friday night classes took place when the weather permitted. The class wasn't large, many kids opting to take 'cooler' electives like art or music, but Amelia liked it better that way. At least it wasn't like her Science of Space class freshman year, when all she heard for about ten months straight was 'check out _Uranus_'.

Their professor, a cute, somewhat dumpy lady who had telescope lenses for glasses, passed out HR star diagrams and set them off to work, promising a clear sky and an easy grade.

Amelia finished in record time, standing up—

At the same fracking time as Braginski.

Steam threated to pour out of Amelia's ears. It would be one thing if it was a friendly competition, but Braginski seemed to take considerable pleasure in one-upping her. Anytime he was awarded a point in their (quite heated, mind you) debates, he seemed to grow a foot taller, his stupid little smile more disturbing than unnervingly polite.

There wasn't much to do after turning in their diagrams—which Amelia did first, but did you see her bragging about it?

Well…only for a minute. Or two.

"Will you stop dancing, please?" Braginski asked through grit teeth. "It is giving me a migraine."

Amelia immediately straightened, sticking her tongue out at him. "It isn't as bad as when you do your victory dissents."

"Those are well thought out _con_sents to both of our efforts in the face of the rigorous course work we are exposed to."

"'_Suck it loser_?_'_"

"I was joking," Braginski said stiffly. She gave an unintended huff of laughter. It caught both of them a bit off guard.

"You don't seem like a class clown," Amelia said dismissively, forcing her threat of a smile into a frown.

"My sense of humor is quite advanced," Braginski's tone was relatively flat, his eyes going dark. "It does not surprise me that you are not able to understand it."

"Two in one night," Amelia whistled. "Impressive."

Braginski scoffed. "If that it all it takes to impress you, I fear for your lack of judgment."

"Jokes and observations about my poor judgment? If I had half I mind I'd think you were trying to seduce me," Amelia leered at him, her only goal to make him uncomfortable.

Braginski didn't falter. He leaned in just as much as Amelia had, and she tried not to reel back. Something should have told her that he would have done this; he always met her head to head.

She'd never been this close to him. "If you had half your mind, I doubt I would be trying, _da?_"

Their professor dismissed class, and before Amelia could get her jaw back in operational order, he had been gone for quite some time.

* * *

**Artie: T-minus 0 hours until d-day, knock him dead my lovely queen**

**Kiks: Receiving play-by-plays from Ludwig, good luck.**

**Tino: Don't be nervous, Amelia! Cheering section in the back has your name on it!**

**Antonio: Kick his ass, chica**

Despite the influx of support that kept popping up on her phone, Amelia felt like she was going to vomit as she waited for class to begin.

Usually, a debate wouldn't have been a second thought. No biggie. But her palms were sweating as she stacked and then restacked her notes on the table in the few minutes before class was supposed to start. She didn't dare look over to see how Braginski was faring.

Ms. Maes opened class and then called Amelia and Ivan up to the podiums at the front of the room. Amelia saw her wink at them and then settle at a desk facing them, acting as moderator. There were too many faces looking down at her, and although Amelia wasn't very scared of the whole _speaking_ part, she was terrified of being wrong. Several of her classmates had governments that had experimented with communism. The blank stare of the girl from Vietnam; the flash of the Estonian representative's glasses; the Korean kid's quick eyes; the Bulgarian's mildly interested stare. There had to be more. What if she sounded like a fucking idiot?

Braginski cleared his throat, and the debate began.

"The world that we exist in today, the world that has preserved throughout the modern age, is the one of a capitalist society…"

Amelia smirked a little at the murmur that spread across the room as Braginski continued to speak. She saw Ludwig immediately start tapping out quick updates, Tino raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Maybe that's what she'd needed: surprising everyone. Because Amelia fell quickly into the swing of the argument after that. Where Braginski quoted Hamilton and Locke, Amelia countered with Marx and Kruzchev. He thrust with supply and demand, she parried with poverty statistics and organized distribution. When he brought up political loyalties halting fair treatment, she countered with McCarthyism and the panic of Scares. Amelia nearly saw a smile on his face as they attacked one another, barely constraining to the rules of letting one person at a time speak. People were torn between who they actually wanted to win. They laughed loudly though, when Amelia lost her cool and accidentally called Braginski a 'filthy capitalist pig'.

And as great and intense and strangely _fun _it was to try and beat him, Braginski clearly had the winning side of the debate. He had the modern age on his side, the truest testament that his position reigned supreme. Amelia was good. But not that good. She had one last trick up her sleeve though, and as they drew to a close, Amelia hastily retrieved a bent index card from the bottom of her stack. She hadn't even known if she would use it when she'd translated it that night in the library. Then again, she didn't really have anything to lose.

"Thank you for your thoughts, Miss Jones," Braginski said formally, gathering his notes.

Amelia cleared her throat, trying to remember the way the words rolled off her tongue; thick and blocky but as smooth and rounded as weather-beaten stones.

"_My ne istinnyye oratory zdes'. Prishla pora i bol'shiye muzhchiny pered nami, kto govoril pravdu._"

A weird hush swept over the room, stretching out the seconds as Braginski's eyes widened. _We are not the true speakers here. It is time and the great men before us who have told the truth. _For once, he didn't have anything to say.

She didn't especially care that no one but Braginski understood her. That's all she'd wanted: maybe to show off a little. And maybe to remind him to not get a big head about winning later. Cocky Braginski was the _worst_ to deal with for the few days it took for his ego to get back in check.

"Thank you again for the wonderful presentation," Ms. Maes said as she ushered them back to their seats.

Amelia endured the hot weight of Braginski's eyes on her for a few minutes before she had to turn and glare at him. She wasn't exactly sure how to react when she did. He'd never looked at her like that. Annoyance, yes, contempt, once or twice. But he looked…bewildered. Like when she'd punched him in the gym, but that had only been a split second. This time the focused mix of curiosity and intrigue didn't fade away.

"…are you okay?" Amelia asked him.

"Extraordinary," he breathed.

She fought off a blush. Clearly he was talking about the depth of his own emotional ineptitude. Right?

"It wasn't that impressive," Amelia said, feeling weirdly embarrassed and uncommonly modest. Christ, what was _her_ problem.

"Perhaps you are right," Braginski said. She looked at him curiously. He was smirking as he said it, entertaining her. _He meant it,_ she thought, startled. _Extraordinary. _

"Was that…a compliment, Braginski?" She lifted a corner of her mouth, enticing him.

"Do not get used to it, Amelia."

"Come on, spoil a girl."

"You are impossible," he said, shaking his head. Amelia grinned though, not knowing exactly why it made her giddy to see the slight quirk of his lips from his profile for the rest of class.

* * *

"_Dios mios!"_ A sharp tug jerked Amelia away from the doorway as soon as she pushed out of class. She wheeled around wildly, confused. _Spanish…but Antonio doesn't have such a high voice—_

"Oh! _Hola _Maria." The Mexican representative grinned up at her. _Weird. _Usually her friend didn't stick around after class. She _hated_ debate, citing mournfully in the sparse conversations they shared that she must have done that section of her class registration after her after-flight pick me up. Which happened to be half of a bottle of smuggled-in Tequila.

"That was so good!" Maria said, her dark eyes dancing. "And you know how I hate to watch people argue."

"Yeah, 'cause what's the fun in a debate…with a debate?"

"_Cierra el pico_," Maria said with a playful bite. "That was probably the only thing interesting thing that's happened all semester."

"I don't know," Amelia cocked her eyebrow. "That time you flipped off Eduard is definitely on my highlight reel."

"Who?"

Amelia bit her cheek to keep from grinning. "Your debate partner."

Maria screwed up her face. "I don't think so."

"How are you passing this class?"

"Hey!" Maria folded her arms across her chest, laughing. "Maybe if I had a hot partner, I'd pay attention too."

Amelia choked on her breath. "What?"

Maria leaned over to bump her shoulder with Amelia's, a wolfish grin spreading across her face. "Come on. He's pretty hot."

"Is he?" Amelia muttered, trying to look anywhere that wasn't Maria's face. "I hadn't noticed."

"Bull shit," Maria crowed, her voice bouncing off the walls.

"I happen to be above attraction based solely on physical appearance."

Maria rolled her eyes. "So you _don't _think he's hot?"

"Nope."

"Sorry, who are we talking about again?"

Amelia eyed her warily. Maybe she'd forgotten some kind of medication this morning? "Braginski."

"Right. Just so we're clear, you don't think Braginski is hot?"

"Braginski isn't hot."

"Yes."

What game was she playing? "No. Braginski isn't hot."

"Yes. Braginski is hot."

"_No_. Braginski isn't hot."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he isn't."

"No, he isn't."

"Yes, he is."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Braginski is fucking hot, okay?!"

Amelia froze, clamping her hand over her mouth. Goddamn, she'd walked into that one. Har-de-har-har. A trick, a prank…but then why wasn't Maria laughing? _Maria should be laughing. She should be fucking enjoying the last few seconds of her life before I beat the shit out of her. She shouldn't be looking over my shoulder like she's seeing…_Amelia cringed.

Maria's eyeballs were threatening to pop out of her head, and Amelia grudgingly swiveled her neck, hoping that some deity would take pity on her and let the ground swallow her up.

But Hades wasn't in the mood for another bride; no salvation popped out of nowhere as she turned to face Braginski. All she could hope was that he hadn't been paying enough attention to be able to understand her shouting.

His hand was still on the door, his eyes wide and unblinking. Like a scratched DVD paused on the weirdest moment of her life.

Maria licked her lips. "_Lo siento mucho_, Amelia." Her voice was pathetic and her footsteps didn't leave much of an echo as they fled down the hall. Amelia's ears were too full of Braginski's silence to register much else.

"She was," Amelia coughed into the hand that was still over her mouth, bringing it down to straighten her sweater idly. "She was just kidding around."

Braginski nodded slowly, still unsure of what to make of the situation.

She cleared her throat and flex her lips in what she hoped was a smile before she turned to leave.

"Were you?"

She almost didn't hear his soft voice. If her ears hadn't been trained on him for any sign of disgust or amusement, she would've definitely missed it.

Despite the gravity of the situation, and how pissed she was at Maria, this was Braginski. And…Braginski was enough somehow, to make a weird smile she hadn't even known she was capable of wearing drape itself on her lips. They goaded each other, they circled each other like sharks in the water; that's what they did. She turned back to him. Her rival, or whatever he was.

"Oh, don't you wish, Braginski." She winked and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

**Maria: Dios mio, I'm so so so sorry!**

**Amelia: not that big of a deal. Prom. **

**Maria: are you sure? He didn't like shoot you with his death-glare?**

**Amelia: shut up. Just don't do it again. **

* * *

The giggle came from nowhere. But it slowly traced itself back to determined blue eyes, shouting of heroics, and horrid, accented Russian. It found roots in deep scowls, smothered smiles, and the wattage of her grin. Then it was everywhere, extending past himself and painting the walls with her brightness. His shoulders shaking and tears forming at the corners of his eyes, his short sounds of pleasure soon drew out, bell-deep and resonating within the walls around him. He couldn't remember a time when he had laughed so long and hard. He clutched at his stomach, reveling at the feeling.

* * *

Amelia called over Eliza and Maddie as soon as she got back from classes that day. It had been about a week since they'd all gotten together to gossip and she was ready for a night of relaxing after spending eight days memorizing the World of Marxism. Admittedly, she was more prone to spend time with her Boys, but Amelia loved Girls' Night, if only for the sole purpose of talking about the Boys freely.

Plus, any distraction from the newest edition of Amelia Humiliates Herself was welcome.

"No he didn't," Amelia giggled from around her mouthful of licorice.

"Swear on my life," Maddie said, still wheezing from telling her story. "Gilbert has to start running out of ideas soon, though." Amelia doubted that. "I'll just wait it out."

"Training his bird to follow you around is kind of dedicated. Maybe even sweet." Eliza rummaged around Amelia's newest care package, picking out all the tropical-flavored candy, which Amelia's mom always forgot she hated.

"That bird is a menace. We aren't even supposed to have pets."

"I'm not sure it's _just _a pet," Amelia said reflectively from the couch. "It spelled out 'You know you want Gilbert' in its shit. That might qualify it for voting in the South."

"Whatever," Maddie threw a piece of popcorn at Amelia's head. She opened her mouth lazily as it bounced off her eyebrow. "Any other news, ladies?"

"Antonio's in love with Feliciano's older brother," Amelia said tamely.

"Oh!" Eliza straightened up.

"Isn't he one of the guys' advisors?" Maddie asked.

"Yeah, that's the one."

Maddie made a face. A streak of worry shuddered through Amelia. She didn't care that Antonio wanted to shack up with another guy, but if that guy ended up being an asshole…Lord help him.

"He's a bit," Maddie paused to search for the right word. "Of a sour puss."

Happy Antonio, blithe and bonny Antonio, infatuated with someone like that? Amelia couldn't picture it.

"It will be good for Lovino," Eliza said knowingly from the floor. "He needs to learn to smile. Plus, it'd be so cute, his little scowls sliding off as Antonio takes him."

Amelia choked on her licorice spit. "Takes him WHERE?"

Eliza smirked.

"Oh God," Amelia whimpered. "I don't need those images in my head. Please, make it stop."

"Yeah, better not get Eliza started her little pets," Maddie laughed.

Amelia quirked her eyebrows, looking between them. "Erm, what are you talking about?"

Eliza sighed happily as Maddie said, "She has this…fascination I guess you'd call it. Like, it's not as weird as autoerotic asphyxiation or anything. She just likes gay boys."

"…You can do that?" Amelia asked softly.

"Totally," Eliza said, gushing. "And I'm so lucky I got to come to this school, you have no idea."

"Why?"

Eliza looked at Amelia like she generally believed she was bonkers. "Let's just say there are a _lot_ of chances for naturalistic observation."

Amelia sat up. "Really?"

Eliza nodded sagely, like a village elder. "More than you'd think."

Amelia let that wash over her. God she felt she was being told hotdogs were bad for you for the first time all over again: AKA _Weirded out_. She hadn't noticed it with Antonio, so how many other friends did she have that weren't telling her something?

_My gaydar sucks. _

Maddie crunched on her ice cube and Amelia shook her head clear. "Congrats on the debate, by the way. I heard it was really cool, having you two switch like that."

"Yeah," Eliza perked up. "I heard about that. And cussing him out in the Mother Tongue at the end. Priceless."

Amelia rolled her eyes, opening the tab of a coke. "Jesus, I didn't cuss him out. Cool and collected is not my trash talk mode. I don't know why people keep thinking that."

"Well anyways," Eliza said dismissively. "It was awesome. From what Ludwig told Rodreich, you were totally badass."

Amelia bowed. "Really, all the credit goes to my personal heroes, Castro, Mao, and that lovely peach, Lenin." She took a deep pull of soda.

"So are you guys sleeping together?"

Amelia sprayed cola all over Maddie, who shrieked as Amelia leaned over the coffee table, hacking against the wood.

"Eliza," Amelia eventually was able to choke. "What the hell, man?"

"It was just a question," Eliza said innocently.

"Yeah, and I'm going to tell the police 'it was _just_ an accident' when they ask me how you fell out of my window. What made you ask that?"

"I don't know," Eliza said. "Maybe the way that you guys obviously dig each other. Like, all that tension. Seriously, you two are going to end up killing each other or breaking a bed."

Amelia wanted to burn her brain.

"Have you thought about it?" Maddie asked as she sat down, wiping at her face with a towel from the bathroom.

"That about what?" Amelia asked miserably. When had this turned into _Fabricate a Relationship for Amelia_?

"Like, you and Ivan. Together."

"I don't know!" Amelia shrieked. "It's kind of hard to form my own opinion when everyone likes throwing it in my face how fucking hot he is."

"Well, you think he's hot. That's something," Eliza said.

Amelia groaned, punching the cushion beside her. "That's not the point. He's a fucking freak."

"You seem to like talking to him though."

"Just to remind myself how unfreaky I am," Amelia said defensively.

"You're lying," Maddie said, hiding her smile behind the towel. "You always look away a second before you lie, and then again right after."

Amelia gasped. "Maybe _you're _the freak."

Maddie giggled. "I'm not the one who prepares and then consoles myself as I lie."

"I'm a fucking awesome liar."

"Yeah, okay."

Amelia flipped Maddie off. "Can we move on to a new topic?"

"Absolutely not!" Eliza sat up. "Little Amelia has a crush! As girlfriends it is our sworn duty to harass you about this for at least a teensy bit."

"It is not a crush," Amelia shrieked. Maddie and Eliza shared a knowing look. "It's not!"

"Just humor us," Maddie pleaded, leaning against Amelia's legs. "We never get to talk about boys with you."

"Because boys are stupid," Amelia said shortly, looking at the ceiling.

"What are you, seven?" Eliza plopped down beside her. "Not all boys are bad. Or carry cooties."

"I can't be too careful," Amelia said seriously. "I never got my cootie vaccine."

A sharp sting on her thigh made her yelp and look down threateningly at Maddie, who made little pinching motions towards her face. "I think you just got your clean bill of health."

"Damn you Canadians and your healthcare."

"So," Eliza drew herself up importantly, and Amelia fought off the eye roll. "Do you like Ivan?"

"I…" Amelia shifted on the couch. "I don't hate him like I did a while ago."

Eliza deflated considerably. "Well, that is something I suppose."

"I've just…" Amelia swallowed back the weird, ancient kind of shame that came with her next statement. "I've never, like, _liked _anyone. So, I don't know."

Eliza tittered in pity, and Amelia's stomach clenched. Ugh, that's the last thing she wanted. It wasn't like she was less of a person just because no one had gotten into her pants. Or…even tried.

Maybe she was kind of a romantic fuckup.

"Well," Maddie spoke up. "Do you look forward to seeing him?"

"Yeah," Amelia said slowly. At first, classes had seemed like the bane of her existence. But now, there was a certain kind of anticipation when it came to their interactions. He was…infuriating. But that was also what she found to be most endearing about him, if she admitted it to herself. He made her put her best foot forward, or fear losing the ground she'd worked so hard to gain.

Maddie smiled, satisfied with the pensive look on Amelia's face. All she needed was a push in the right direction.

It didn't take long for Eliza to ruin it.

"So have you thought about doing it with him?"

"Have I _what_?" Amelia fought to keep the crazy out of her voice. Goddammit, heroes remained calm.

"Thought about _it_. About _him_. It's natural."

"Have you?" Maddie's quiet voice broke the enraged silence, curious and sounding too innocent for this whole conversation. Amelia wanted to cover her ears, dig her way through the carpet to the room below. Surely the girl from Wen wouldn't mind.

Instead, she glanced fearfully between her two friends. How had this gone so wrong? The last thing that she wanted was a group forum on her thoughts on boning the guy! Which she hadn't, by the way. Thought of boning him.

_Oh God I'm thinking about it. Stop. STOP IT. _

"Uh, noooo," Amelia crossed her arms in an _x _in front of her face_, _as if to ward off evil. And maybe to hide her humiliatingly red face. "That's no with a capitol N."

"Imagine it," Eliza challenged. "Right now. And tell me if even the thought of it doesn't seem tempting."

"That's stupid," Amelia said quickly. Because a) it was, and b) _no fucking way_.

"It is," Maddie said. Amelia nearly cried with relief. She knew her little maple leaf would have her back. "I don't think she even knows what to imagine."

Amelia snorted, outraged. "Do to!"

"Really?" Eliza said doubtfully. Amelia _knew _she should have lied when they'd asked her if she was a virgin.

"Being a…" Amelia unintentionally lowered her voice. "Virgin doesn't mean I haven't watched porn. Jesus, I'm an American teenager for fuck's sake."

"Then we have no problem," Eliza drawled, poking at Amelia's shoulder, growing a little bored. "Just sub in Mr. Slav. It's not that big of a deal."

"We aren't going to leave you alone about this," Maddie threatened.

"Then whatever," Amelia said dismissively. "I'll just kick you two out and go hang out with the guys."

"I'll tell all of them you're having fantasies about Ivan," Maddie countered.

"Oh my God," she snapped. Wasn't she doing sweet-romantic shit to help her along her road to interpersonal awareness just a second ago? Where were the docile-damsels to vixen-succubus switches on these chicks? "You guys are really sick, you know."

She didn't plan on it, really. The last thing she wanted to do was think of sex with her friends in the room. Like, who does that? Some part of her brain though, was apparently _very _eager to show off its talent for photoshop and explicit content. It jumped at the chance to prove itself, dredging up the layout of a boy's dorm room, tidier than hers, save the trail of clothes leading to the bed.

_Stop. What are you DOING? _Amelia wanted to drill a hole in her head, to scrub her brain clean.

She tried her best to keep it faceless, hoping this this brain-train had at least one safety valve. She'd accidentally (and sometimes not accidentally) clicked enough links on the internet that surely she didn't have to see _his _face.

But her mind wasn't listening to her anymore, and his features broke through. Wide, pale shoulders gleamed with sweat from the light of the moon filtering into the room. She could imagine the muscles of his back, thick from work she'd been witness to in the gym, shudder and flex as he moved. The sheets of his bed riding low on his hips. His hair would be sweaty, strands sticking to his face. And instead of the overdone, meritless cries of 'oh God' and 'yes', he'd growl out Russian. Rough and sharp as the teeth that scraped pulse points, nipped at the collarbone, sank into a shoulder.

Eliza snapped her fingers in front of Amelia's nose. She jerked up, hoping to God she wasn't blushing.

"So?" Eliza hummed. The look on her face could only be described as _lecherous. _

"…Nope." Amelia straightened, trying her best to ignore the weird ache in her lower stomach. "Not interested." She inhaled a handful of Doritos, trying to get her mind away from that weird, naughty place and back to _your dorm room with your friends and _not_ some weird fantasy land. _"So when do you think Ludwig will figure out Feli is using fear of the dark as an excuse to get into his room at night?"

But maybe she looked away too soon, because Maddie eyed her strangely from across the room.

* * *

The glass doors of the gym blissfully opened when Amelia tried them after eleven on a Saturday night. There was nothing but the hum of the lights as the motion sensors picked up her movement and the padding of her sneakered feet as she went to the boxing equipment.

It had been nearly a week since the debate and Girls' Night In. Coincidentally, she had not been able to sleep for nearly a week. Every time she saw Braginski or got a suggestive text from one of the girls, she wanted to scream. Damn them. Damn him. Damn her.

She hit the bag with an open palm, welcoming the sting.

Next, she punched it. She grudgingly saw that her fists now automatically curled the way _he_'d showed her, protecting her precious little thumbs. _Having weird, perverted friends. _

Punch. _Thinking porn-quality thoughts of Braginski. _

Smack. _Not being immediately disgusted with said thoughts. _

She could see him laughing at her now. "Fuck!" She tore her hands through her hair. "No! Fuck no! Shit, goddamn."

She wanted her mom to come and play with her hair, to make her hot chocolate and say, "You're too smart for these boys anyway, Amelia," like she'd done all through high school.

She wanted to _sleep_ and forget about how close she'd seen him. In this very gym, as he squatted in front of her. In astronomy, by the brilliant light of the moon and a sky full of stars. So close she could have counted every pale eyelash, counted the specks and rivets in his deep, violet eyes. Not freckles, though, she remembered. Not one on his smooth, white face.

Her fists attacked the bag again.

"No!" She yelled again, stopping her assault. "I'm not going to start liking that stupid Russian!"

The bag swung sadly back and forth, silent. She was suddenly spent. Her head throbbed and insisted on bringing up images of him: his nearly white-gold hair, the cold cut of his jawline, the impression of a real smile in his eyes.

Under _no _circumstances did she like the stupid face.

…

"Ah, shit!"

* * *

**D'aw cute Amelia, trying violently to negate her heart's desires. Hope she comes around to the idea. **

**Stay tuned, the romantic plot thickens! **

**Thanks again for everyone keeping up with this story and first timers. Reading and Reviewing are my lifeblood. Also, there was about…a paragraph of Amelia's imagination that contained only a hint of sexiness and I obsessed over it for a week, so I did a writing exercise to get used to writing more 'adult' level stuff and it kind of turned into a cool one-shot between Ivan and Amelia that I'm probably going to post later. **

**See you soon! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Ta-da~ Just dabbled editing this and added like...seven pages by accident. So longest chapter of the fic so far. Don't expect this much everytime because my fingers **burn**. Thanks so much for everyone who keeps on reading. Hint for the people who actually read the AN at the beginning: fight. **

* * *

The hallway was silent as Amelia double checked over her shoulder. She crossed her fingers before she slid into Kiku's room. Gil had been his awesome self and swung by earlier to unlock the door for her.

It was a Thursday, so Kiku _should_ still be tutoring kids in meta-astrophysics or whatever. This was her only window of opportunity since the Olympic meeting had dismissed a little earlier than usual. They'd had to call the nurse when Toris fainted.

He'd been fine, right up until Braginski spooked him with an apparently undesired compliment on his and Amelia's presentation and a pat on the back. Toris had squeaked and immediately slumped to the ground.

Being the awesome friend that she was, Amelia had offered to see him back to the infirmary office with the nurse. Besides, the meeting was getting on her last nerve. Braginski was being _Braginski_. Which, admittedly, didn't mean what it used to. Two months ago that meant Amelia wanted to rip his fucking head off every time he opened his mouth. Now it meant Amelia was too busy either staring at him or giving herself a mental lecture and listing all the reasons why she _shouldn't_ be staring to pay much attention to anything.

She had originally thought it pathetic, that one guilt-trip of dirty thoughts had seemingly altered her whole perspective of Braginski. But Maddie had made it her duty to circle back when Eliza had had her fun, making sure that Amelia hadn't been permanently scarred. And Amelia accepted that, with endless prodding from Maddie, she had a certain respect for Braginski. Which wasn't…terrible. The whole terrible thing seemed that her feelings had crept up while she wasn't looking, the backstabbing fuckers.

The meeting had also lost some points with Alvarez, who was playing the part of Little Bitch Number One. It had to be his most critically acclaimed role to date. He was worse than usual, flipping her off as he pretended to sleep through her presentation, talking loudly over people who had questions. Even Yao was fed up with him by the time Alvarez had challenged himself to a paper airplane competition and gotten one stuck in Yao's ponytail.

Which, Amelia could understand. Yao's ponytail was fucking glorious.

Everyone was kind of ready for the meeting to be over by the time the nurse came by to haul Toris in. Amelia jumped under Toris' left arm while the nurse took the other and they started dragging her friend down the hall.

Braginski nodded goodbye, he even told Amelia to make sure to convey his apologies to Toris. Alvarez shouted something about making sure her little girlfriend had a speedy recovery as the door slammed shut behind her. Amelia bit her lip and forced herself to not abandon Toris and go back and beat the little creep into a pulp.

She didn't have to apparently, because it sounded like a few moments later someone threw another person through a fucking wall.

Amelia heard the thud halfway down the hall, and she nearly dropped the half of Toris she was supporting in fright. The nurse sighed, muttering in Italian about having to double back for somebody.

But she didn't get to see whoever had suffered the wrath of the rising tempers of the meeting. She dumped a moaning Toris onto the first open cot and bolted for the boy's dorms.

Kiku's room didn't look any different than it normally did, but being here without her friend's knowledge kind of made the whole thing seem a bit wonky. She eyed Kiks' movie collection warily, steering it clear by a few more feet than necessary. One of those movies had a chick that crawled out of it, and Amelia wasn't messing with that juju.

_Right, _she looked at her watch as she got to the center of the room. 5:23 pm. _Twenty-two minutes left in Operation: Determine Kiks' Sexual Preferences. _

She wasn't going to be the not-awesome friend that she'd been with Antonio. Because friends were supposed to know which way you swung. Obviously. Amelia fought the urge to hum the Mission Impossible theme as she got down to business.

The closet didn't yield anything. No secret stashes of porn in a shoebox, like Gilbert said he did. Nothing under the bathroom sink, or under his bed. No diary conveniently written in English in his nightstand. Amelia was really stumped when she didn't find anything in his hamper. That's where her mom hid all her 'adult romances'.

Literally nothing. Not even a dust ball. Amelia was starting to think Kiku was too clean to even consider hiding stuff like that in his dorm. Or having it at all.

What a waste of time. Kiks: The Eternal Blushing Virgin, she thought dismally as she leaned her forehead against his set of drawers.

_Wait a sec_…Something nudged at the tip of her memory. _Blushing_…

She turned her head a degree, where his expansive library covered about four selves on the adjacent wall. A slow smile crept up on her as she walked over, brushing her fingers against the spines of his books.

"You sly dog, Kiks," she skipped over the top shelf, which were all old classics, bound in leather. "Hiding in plain sight?"

Knowing what kind of stories he liked had to give her at least a clue. It was always something trivial like that in the movies. She slid out a colorful looking title, thumbing through it. And then the next one, and the next one…

_Jackpot._

She inched out the book she'd seen him with weeks ago in the lounge. Her Japanese hadn't improved enough to suddenly be able to understand everything, but she had more time now to determine just what the heck was going on. The story seemed really tame until about halfway through the book. Two boys were shoving each other; one had his hands fisted in the other's shirt collar, bringing him close to his shouting face.

_Damn, they're getting into it_. Amelia clucked her tongue as she tried to follow the boxes in the right order. The dark haired boy in the manga was blushing more than Toris and Kiks combined probably ever could, trying to shift away from the fierce gaze of the taller guy. He tried flimsily to break the guy's hold on his collar, but he only brought him closer. _What did the little guy ever do to you?_ Amelia wondered as she reached the end of the panel, licking her thumb to turn the page. _Hit on your girlfriend or something?_

Amelia yelped and almost dropped the book.

_Guess not_, she thought weakly. The whole next page was a mural to the most intense kiss she'd ever seen in any manga. The smaller boy's eyes were wide for a few panels before the other guy released him. They stared at each other and then…

Then they _attacked._

That was the best way Amelia could describe it. She'd hadn't even known tongues were allowed to _do_ that, let alone someone recreate and publish it. Strings of saliva connected them in the (few) moments they drew back, the author going to great lengths to draw little puffs of air to show their breathlessness.

She couldn't help herself. It was like something possessed her to keep turning the pages. All of the sudden, the characters where on a bed, tearing at each other's clothes, kissing any kind of skin they could reach. Pants were suddenly gone and the taller boy rolled over on top of the dark haired one—

Amelia slammed the book back on the shelf, breathing hard. Unwanted, weird shivers of arousal swept through her. She did not particularly like them. _Eliza gets off on this stuff_, Amelia thought bewilderedly, going to the next book. It was generally the same. So was the next one and then the next one.

_So does Kiku. _

The realization hit her like a baseball bat to the stomach. Not disgust, just shock. _They never tell me anything_, she thought bitterly, putting back anything that was left out of place.

_Did they…did they not trust me? _But that didn't seem like Kiku or Antonio. Or even Arthur. Shit, she hadn't thought about Arthur. Was he hiding something too? Jesus Christ, just how many of her friends were gay?

She high-tailed it back over the quad just as her watch was beeping 5:45.

* * *

**Amelia: holy hell, u were right**

**Eliza: hm?**

**Amelia: gayboys abound**

**Eliza: who'd you find out?**

**Amelia: Kiks**

**Eliza: borrring. known for ages**

**Amelia: rlly?**

**Eliza: how do you think I got turned on to all those yummy comics?**

Amelia smiled begrudgingly as it fell into place.

**Amelia: y didn't he tell me though?**

**Eliza: I bet he didn't know it was important to you. Kiku doesn't seem the time to hide that just to spite, you know?**

**Amelia: Ya, I guess…**

**Eliza: so…**

**Eliza: any news from the Russian front?**

**Amelia: No. **

**Amelia: And I hate you. **

**Eliza: ;P**

* * *

Astronomy the next day started out boring. They had been assigned a monthly project of charting specific groups of stars and Professor Sinistra looked a little…frazzled and just let them have the class to work on it.

The girl Amelia had picked as her partner that month wasn't much for talking. So much so, that Amelia had quickly forgotten her name and was too embarrassed to ask for it again. It would only seem stupid, seeing as this was week three of the four week assignment. The girl had done half of the weekly chart and then silently pushed it over to Amelia, opting to sit broodingly instead of do any actual group work.

Amelia tried to discreetly erase some of the minor mistakes the girl had made before positioning her telescope to start in on the remaining half. The lull of the sky quickly overtook Amelia, and she zoned in on her work, loving how she could see the nightly progressions of her stars easily. She sighed. Stars. Now _those_ were predictable. They didn't go off and confuse you, starting in one quadrant and then reversed in a completely different one the next time you looked up. Without their consistency Polynesians wouldn't have canoed to Hawaii; the Mayans tell time; the Greeks tell stories; the Angels give directions.

"I'll just," Amelia trailed off as she put the finishing touches on the chart. Some time since she'd zoned out, the girl had apparently excused herself from class. "…right."

Professor Sinistra tittered approvingly as Amelia turned in the completed star chart. She returned to her spot and started gathering her stuff together. There was only ten minutes left in class when she saw Braginski rip a chart from his partner and start to write furiously on it. The kid made a weird noise of protest that would probably have wielded sympathy in his country, but Braginski—Amelia gaped at him in shock—ground out something that didn't sound like any language she'd ever heard of, fixing his partner with a stare that could melt the ice caps.

Was he cursing him or something?

Whatever it was, Braginski's partner didn't stay around to find out. He yelled something about having a stomach ache or a heart attack (his English wasn't very good) and got his ass out of there.

Amelia blinked a few times. Whispers went around campus that Braginski had a bit of a…reputation. Toris fainting after Braginski had barely touched him didn't do anything good for him. That kind of talk had kind of made Amelia skeptical, since Braginski clearly apologized for it. The word going around school made the encounter seem much more violent in the few seconds Amelia entertained the rumor mill.

And as much as she would have liked to sit quietly and mind her own business—

Amelia stifled a laugh. She cracked herself up.

Braginski didn't look too happy. And not in his usual mysterious, brooding manner. His shoulders were tense. A slow itch made its way down her spine. She hated seeing people in distress. And Braginski like that…somehow was ten times worse. It made her chest ache.

"_I'm sorry for what Eliza said the other week," Maddie said sheepishly during their small window of time before Arthur got back from his imperial history workshop to go on a walk. _

"_Don't worry," Amelia blushed, scratching at the back of her neck. "I've already forgotten about it."_

_Maddie giggled, but it sounded a little forced. "I saw how much you blushed when Ivan spoke to you in the dining hall."_

"_I had a fever that day."_

_Maddie gave her a softening look. _

"_You don't have to treat him any differently, you know." Amelia tried not to widen her eyes. Maddie hid her smile beautifully. "Especially if you're not sure of your own feelings. Just…see where this leads." _

Right. She didn't have to pretend that he was a mine or something that would blow up if she shifted her weight the wrong way. He was a guy, not the A-Bomb. And she was Amelia fucking Jones, not some dippy airhead. Amelia toed out of her All-Stars before she made her way over to the temporary table Braginski had set up. The grass was slick and cool against the pads of her feet, making her smile.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, Red," she said as she hovered near his shoulder. He scoffed and didn't look up from his work.

"I don't need any beauty tips today," he said shortly.

Amelia clucked her tongue. "What's got your girdle in a twist?"

"I have to get this done, Amelia, why don't you go off and play with one of your little boyfriends or something."

"Sheesh, someone's a little touchy," Amelia blinked at him. That one kind of stung. They'd been acting like…friends or whatever the last few weeks. _What's stuck up his ass?_

"You would be too," he said distractedly as he plotted another point. "If you had a _pridurok_ who thought he'd signed up for Astrology."

"Yikes," Amelia said in sympathy. At least the girl Amelia was with had at least an inkling of what they were supposed to be doing. Braginski's shoulders hitched a little further as Professor Sinistra called five minutes to class. The slow itch at the base of Amelia's skull drove her mad. He was going to go crazy, looking from the sky to his paper and then back to double check his work. A whole section of the chart was still unfilled, and it nearly made Amelia burn. He didn't deserve an incomplete grade for this. He was the only other person in class besides her who actually cared to do well in it.

"What are you doing?" Braginski hissed. Amelia tugged harder on the corner of his chart. "Let _go_, saboteur."

"Look," Amelia sat next to him, not letting go. "Either give it to me, or turn in an incomplete. You know Sinistra won't take it. I had that last system too, so just let me help you out. Jesus."

"My name is Ivan," he said lamely, but he relaxed his grip enough for Amelia to rip it away from him.

"Clever," Amelia rolled her eyes and started finishing his work, recalling without too much trouble her own chart. "There," she pushed it to his chest a minute later.

Braginski looked down at it with a fraction of suspicion. Which Amelia thought was a little unfair. She was the hero here, he should be thanking her, not checking to see if she'd maliciously drawn a dick on it or something. "You shouldn't have done that," he said carefully.

Amelia waved him off. "Just go turn it in, _Ivan_."

It took him a second, but he must have chosen the lesser of evils in his moral conflict because he hurried to present it to Professor Sinistra before she dismissed class.

"Cutting a bit close tonight, aren't we Mr. Braginski?"

"Yes. It won't happen again."

Amelia grinned at the pouting, sour aura that seeped off of Braginski as he dragged himself back to his station. He ran his fingers down his face, sighing heavily.

"I believe the proper response," Amelia crossed her legs, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Is, _thank you, kind Amelia, what would I ever do without you?_"

Braginski shook his head disbelievingly, his lips in a hard line. "I don't want your help."

Amelia sat up straight. "Why the hell not?"

"I don't want to owe any favors," he crossed his arms, drumming his fingers like he was waiting out a particularly unruly toddler.

"Come on, I'm not going to expect an IOU. You didn't deserve a zero just because you're partner was inept. It's not a big deal." Besides, Amelia couldn't have stood watching him struggle anymore with that, even if it was something tiny like this stupid project. It was never in her nature.

He worked his jaw for a second before he sighed again and made a shooing motion with his hand. Amelia stuck out her tongue at him and plopped down in the grass, stretching out her legs. Seeing him get all riled up was kinda cute.

Amelia watched him for a bit, dismantling his telescope and folding up the table to put it in the shed at the edge of the garden. Everyone else had been gone for a few minutes when he was finally done. She waited for him to march onward, maybe say something a little derogatory to keep her on her toes before stepping over her on his way out. But she was surprised when he didn't do either. Instead of slinging his bag over his shoulder and going back to the dorms, he sat down heavily beside her. He craned his neck up, watching the sky.

"Why did you do it, though? You don't peg me as a cheater."

Amelia shrugged. "It's not _cheating_. You looked a little strung out."

Braginski leaned back on his hands, not changing his line of sight. "I am sure I was the picture of composure."

"Sure," Amelia said coyly. She shifted her weight the tiniest bit so she could sneak her hand just a little closer. "It's what friends _do_ Braginski."

"No more Ivan?" he said. _Just a little closer. _"And since when were we…"

Amelia bit her bottom lip before pouncing, knocking against his closest locked elbow. _Gotcha. _He grunted in surprise as he teetered unbalanced, and just when he looked like he would recover seamlessly, like he always seemed to do, she pushed on his chest and he collapsed the rest of the way into the grass. She cackled at the look of shock that widened his eyes for a spilt second before he sputtered something between a giggle and a gurgling noise of panic.

"Since I could do that and not have to worry about you bludgeoning me with the nearest rock," Amelia laughed down at him.

"Are you done having fun?"

"With you?" Amelia stuck her pinky in her mouth and tried to get it near his ear. He smacked her hand away before she could, the fucking killjoy. "Never."

"You're disgusting," he said lightly, trying to regain his composure, sanding the edges of his smile down until they only barely showed.

"And you're a dick," Amelia said, crossing her legs Indian style. They were silent for a few moments, and returned to observing the night sky. She wondered idly why he hadn't up and gone already. They'd met their quota of teasing each other, calling names. He would've done it two months ago. Maybe they really were friends. "Why not be partners on the next project, eh? Wouldn't count as cheating that way."

She could see Braginski considering it from the corner of her eye, his lips pulling down and back as he ran it through his head. "Alright," he finally said.

"Cool," Amelia tugged on a blade of grass, ignoring the way it seemed she'd been holding her breath, waiting for an answer. "It'd be a nice change from Miss Priss."

Braingski nodded. "I think we're the only ones who care to do well in this class."

"Why is that?" Amelia turned to him. "Astronomy is kind of…I think even Professor Sinistra sees it as a filler between the astrophysics courses. I don't think a credit in star-gazing is required for a diplomacy track."

"Could ask you same question," Braginski shifted his shoulders, stretching his arms out before locking his hands behind his head. "Everyone forgets that we started with stars. Civilizations built themselves around the heavens, reaching to them, _da?_ Now everyone," he scoffed with disgust. "Too busy to look up and just…be awed. I didn't want to forget that. I never do."

"That's beautiful," Amelia said as she reached out and patted his head heavily. He growled at her and she smiled, putting her hands up in surrender.

"Then what is your sappy excuse for taking this class?"

"Easy," Amelia rolled her shoulders. "Time travel."

Braginski stared at her blankly. "Fuck, don't look at me like I have three heads or something. Look, hear me out. All that light we see, bouncing off moons and rocks from stars millions of miles away, all of that could be gone the next time we look up. We could be seeing the ghosts of places that have been dead and gone for thousands of years, but we don't know it because of how long it takes fucking light to get here. It kind of makes me wonder if anyone else is looking back at us, and if our sun ever goes out, they wouldn't even notice, because they're seeing us as we are _now_—because of the million years it'd take for the light to get to them. Makes you appreciate the present."

He was silent for a few moments, his brows drawn together like he was trying to solve a Sudoku. "You say some of the most bizarre things I've ever heard."

Amelia covered her face exaggeratedly, as if fending off cameras.

"Especially given your usual demeanor."

"Well thank you, I—" Amelia's hands dropped. She wished she were standing up. Hands on hips while sitting Indian style did not look the least bit intimidating. "And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, my _usual _demeanor?"

Braginski giggled for real, his shoulders shaking. "You are so trivial, going from one extreme to the next."

"Sorry you didn't get the Manual d'Amelia. Guess you're in the same boat as everyone else."

"Guess I am," Braginski said quietly. He let a few more seconds tick by before he stood up, dusting off his sweater and holding out his hand to her.

Amelia regarded it for a second. Her, sitting on the ground and pouting, expecting him to extend his hand and being sorely disappointed. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She hadn't even known his name then.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing."

_I would hate to discourage you. But until I am proved otherwise, there is no changing my opinions. _

Maybe she wasn't the only one who had done some reevaluating in the past couple of weeks.

Amelia grabbed his hand and allowed him to haul her up, noticing that it didn't take much effort, but that he hissed anyway.

"Okay, asshole," Amelia huffed. "Don't act like it was a labor of Hercules or something."

"_Nyet_," Braginski squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his hand. His breathing hitched a little and Amelia reached out, brushing his fingers aside and pushing the sleeve of his sweater up.

"Shit Braginski," she sucked in a breath. Skin along every knuckle was split, barely healed and still scabbed over with blood. The bruises that spread out across his hand looked black against the paleness of his skin in the moonlight. "Did you lose a fight with a brick wall?"

He tugged his hand away, rolling his sleeve back down before hiding it away in his pocket. "Something like that."

"What happened?"

"It's not really your concern, is it?" he said, hitching his bag higher over his shoulder. It was the universal sign for: Ivan Braginski is Ready To Leave.

"Sorry," Amelia stepped back, trying to cap the anger bubbling up inside her.

Braginski shrugged, his eyes growing disinterested. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his deadened stare. Amelia bit her lip, trying not to gnaw through the flesh. They'd been getting along great. And now just because of his fucking hand he was going to start acting like they hadn't made all that progress?

She stalked over to her area, grabbing her bag and shoving her shoes back on.

"You didn't have to be an ass about it," she muttered as she tried to step past him.

"Did you have something to say to me?" he stopped her, snagging her arm.

"Yeah," Amelia felt like stomping her foot. "People don't decide _when_ they treat people like friends, Braginski. You can't tolerate me one second and then brush me off the next. It doesn't work that way."

"You don't understand," Braginski said as he stared at the ground.

"Maybe I don't," Amelia shook her head, trying to get his eyes out of her mind. It was weird. He was pulling her in two different directions, and now she had the added bonus of worrying about her own emotions, the strange and still foreign affection that had latched onto him. It was almost too hard to judge where they stood and try to keep herself unmarred in the struggle.

"Ivan," she breathed hard to mask the sob that threatened to escape her throat.

She looked up, but he was already gone.

* * *

"Order!" Ludwig shouted from the podium. "Hey! Order! Sit down! Shut your faces!"

It was his turn to lead the Model UN meeting, and Amelia had never seen him so exasperated. It was too funny, like a Spaniard trying to teach Ukrainians Japanese. Several arguments had already broken out in the first few minutes, and it truly amazed Amelia how people could tolerate one another in school, but the second they embraced the personas of nations, went at each other's throats.

Except for Amelia, who would never stoop to that level.

"Someone just suggested dismantling the United States' program to develop defensive missiles," Arthur said, sitting bored beside her. They were seated alphabetically by country, so it wasn't the greatest vantage point for arguing with Francis, who was seated further down. Amelia could tell he was biding his time though.

"What?!" She stood up quickly. "Who was it? Was it YOU?" She leaned out to point at Yao.

Ludwig was still calling for order by the time Yao finished cussing at her in Mandarin.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP AND TRY TO HAVE A CIVIL CONVERSATION FOR ONCE."

People mumbled in protest but Ludwig had switched to Scary German Mode. Which, in Amelia's opinion, was way worse than even Braginski could dish up. People swore up and down Braginski brought death with a single look, but Amelia called bullshit. Ludwig, however, was scary at an…organized level. His fury wasn't petty or easily resolved. She legitimately pitied anyone in his doghouse.

"Right," he ran a hand through his hair. "Now, our issues to discuss today include the energy crisis and the state of the ocean's reef conservation."

Annnnd Amelia checked out. Model UN was tolerable, but she thought scientists were more suited to tackle these issues than her. Or say…college students in general. _Waste of time._ She doodled a sunflower in the margins of her notes until Kiku stood up to give his presentation on how gases were choking the planet.

Like a good friend, she put down her pen and listened intently. Even if he was a jerk and didn't tell her he liked boys, she gave her full attention. Which she should have been commended for with like, a fucking _medal_. The presentation was loaded with facts and references and charts and diagrams that Amelia bet her left foot would've convinced half of the industrialized nations to cut their greenhouse gases to next to nothing. Halfway through she was checking her phone for the lowest brightness setting, and trying to remember if she'd left anything plugged in at her dorm room.

_Maybe not a complete waste of time_, Amelia thought as Kiku bowed slightly and went back to his seat. Amelia whistled loudly, and she swore she saw him blush.

"He's going places," Amelia whispered to Arthur, like their friend's genius was something that could be jinxed.

"We're all going places, twat," Arthur sighed. "Pretty bloody prestigious school, remember?"

"I don't like your sass."

The meeting moved on to more workable issues within the school. Things like holidays that were coming up. Such as which should be celebrated, and to what extent. Since they were so diverse, the administrators had put them in charge of such endeavors, at the risk of forgetting something or offending someone. In reality, most of Model UN was put into running the social agenda of the school. Amelia thought it was a clever way of the administration for giving students 'worldly duties' while their only worry was that students didn't catch anyone on fire like in the Great Luau Fiasco of 2003.

Almost immediately, the bases of Christmas, Ramadan (the Saudi representative insisted it be put in the calendar. Even though Ramadan didn't fall in the school year), Chinese New Year, Ash Wednesday, St. Valentine's, and Easter were covered.

Even Kiku volunteered a holiday. One that Amelia, from one of the most diverse countries in the world, had never heard of. "White Day," he said quietly. "It is like Valentine's Day, but it is the boys and men who return the gifts or chocolate for the girls."

"I wouldn't mind a boy treating _me_," giggled the girl from the UAE down the row. "Especially some of the more _rugged _types around here."

Amelia's ears automatically went hot with secondhand embarrassment at the girl's words. She cleared her throat unintentionally, and the girl scowled at her. Arthur didn't pay her any mind. He was looking at the back of Kiku's head, turning a pen between his fingers.

Amelia's hand rose with the majority. Mostly her stomach churned at the idea of a boy approaching her, of giving her something and expecting reciprocity. But the small, girly part at the back of her skull also thought it would be…kind of nice. She fought to keep her eyes forward and away from a sudden, magnetic pull down the rows of seats. _Stupid._

"Any other suggestions?" Ludwig said as he marked down March 14th on the little calendar in front of him.

"Thanksgiving!" Amelia shouted, even though other people had their hands raised.

Ludwig seemed a bit put off that she hadn't waited to be called on. But someone else interjected before he could reprimand her. "Why would we want to celebrate such a gluttonous tradition?" Amelia held back a groan and turned to look down and to the left, where she'd managed _all meeting long_ to _not_ look. Braginski had twisted in his chair to get a better angle at her. She ignored the weird twist in her chest.

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. Cleared her dry throat. "Come on! There's plenty of notice. I mean, it's only like, two weeks away. All you really need is food. And you celebrate what you're grateful for. What the hell's wrong?"

The room held its breath, loving this. Most of them had missed their famous debates, only heard bits and pieces that were probably woven into Academy legend at this point. Amelia would have preferred the disorganized chaos from before. The faint tinkling of Eliza's giggling could be heard from somewhere near the front.

"I do not think the connotations of stuffing one's face would be entirely appropriate."

"What? You think just because some people don't have tons of food or money they aren't thankful for what they _do_ have? Come on, it isn't about seeing who can eat the most or shoving how good you have it in other people's faces. It's about spending time with your family, with people you care about, people like this," she made a sweeping gesture to everyone in the room, "who we're going to know for the rest of our lives. We're going to love and hate each other a lot. Just like any other family. Why _shouldn't _we celebrate that? Hell, even Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving!"

"Ours is in October," a meek voice spoke up from the front of the room. A few people turned their heads to try to find the source of the noise, but Amelia pressed on.

"And I think you have a lot to be grateful for." She eyed Braginski.

He smiled. "Oh?"

"Yeah," she smiled back at him. "Like experiencing the grace of a fucking oral presentation instead of me trying to make my argument by shoving a turkey down your throat."

A few people snickered behind their hands as Amelia sat back in her chair. Most looked at her with a type of awe. Even the kids who kind of hated Amelia on principle. She seemed to be the only person who would ever butt heads with the Slav.

They took a vote. Thanksgiving won sixty-two, thirty-three. Ha. She tried to catch Braginski's eye to give him a victory smirk, but he deliberately did not look in her direction the rest of the meeting, his back straight and his arms folded in front of him. He was still in a foul mood. Which only made her feel worse.

"Sore loser," she said under her breath.

Arthur was silent next her. She turned and raised an eyebrow at his expression. "What's _your_ deal?"

"You have the hots for Braginski," he said dully, as if he were commenting on the weather or reciting stock values. "Don't you?"

Amelia cringed. Totally not awesome. "What is it about _shove a turkey down your throat_ that suggests I've got a lady boner for Ruski?"

"I don't know," the corner of Arthur's mouth turned up. "Maybe the thing about 'fucking oral'. There some tension you need to release with him, Amelia?"

Amelia nearly had a stroke. "That was—there is no connection. He disgusts me."

"You want to kiiiiiss him," Arthur ignored her death glare. "You want to maaaarry him. You want him to liiiiiick—"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Artie!"

The room went silent.

Amelia's face felt like it was milliseconds away from bursting into flames. Everyone was looking at her. And not in a good way. Not the adoring, _Gee, this girl is our hero _way. More like in a _This girl is effing crazy_ way. Braginski looked like he was trying to decide if he should laugh at her or commit her to a mental asylum.

"Meeting adjourned," Ludwig said, sighing pathetically. He'd been so excited to host the meeting. Amelia winced in his direction, hoping he saw. She'd pay Gilbert to smuggle some beer into his dorm to make it up to him.

"Way to go Artie," Amelia hissed as they stood to leave.

"I don't recall holding a gun to your head and forcing you to make a fool of yourself. You seem to be capable of doing that all on your own."

"You were the catalyst."

"I think _not_," Arthur huffed. "Besides, you _were _eyeing him. And you seem to like arguing with him."

"It wasn't any worse than what you and Francis scream at each other and you haven't tried getting into _his _pants."

That snapped him out of it. "Completely unrelated," he hissed. "No way in hell." They filed out of the room, bitching about a World History project that was due before—what was now officially—the Thanksgiving holiday.

Well, Arthur did most of the bitching.

All of the bitching.

Arthur bitched.

She was about to pop him one in the jaw when Braginski came waltzing up. Relief flooded through her. Almost. Arthur's bitching was a powerful thing.

"_Privet,_" Amelia noted that he had reverted back to the icy politeness that she'd associated with Braginki the first weeks of term. It was like he'd stepped out of a time machine.

"Hey," she said sullenly. Normally, being pissed at someone would lead to some kind of fire in her chest, a will to smash something at their head. She only felt like something inside her had been drenched, weighing her down. Arthur looked back in forth between them, like he was expecting them to drop some kind of act they were putting on to confuse him.

"I thought I would let you know before class tomorrow that we shouldn't be partners for this month's project."

"Probably best," she said, playing off the crack in her voice.

Arthur straightened, his massive eyebrows narrowing as he honed in on Amelia's face, and looked sneakily back to Braginski. "Thanks for that, mate. Now go and sod off. Leave my friend alone."

Braginski raised an eyebrow and looked like he was going to say something, but then thought better of it and nodded curtly before walking back.

Amelia let out a gigantic breath. "Thanks Artie."

"A hero needs a hero every now and then," he said lightly.

She hugged him close and buried her nose in the collar of his jacket.

"What the hell are you doing?" He struggled to break out of her hold.

"I think I love you," she teased, feeling marginally better. "Who needs stupid Russians anyways? Give me a tea-soaked Brit any day."

* * *

_Game Over_ Amelia's side of the screen blinked. The guts of her avatar slid down the screen in a river of red.

"Goddammit," she threw down the controller. Kiku looked at her strangely from his place on his bed. Arthur looked down at the controller in his hands like it was the Holy Grail.

"I won," he whispered, awed.

"Yeah I let you," Amelia said sourly, pushing her swivel chair away from the monitor in disgust.

"No you didn't," Kiku said softly, so Arthur wouldn't hear, once she'd drifted towards him. "You suck tonight, Miss Amelia."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Soda jitters. Can't concentrate." She swiped his can away from him, wincing at the head rush as she downed it.

Astronomy that night had been killer. Actually, every class in the last two weeks had been killer. Current Events and History hadn't been too bad since she and Ivan sat on opposite ends of the room, but the atmosphere still felt different.

Debate had changed from their weirdly charged mutual interest to sub-zero temperatures. Braginski probably felt comfortable with that seeing as he was from the fucking Tundra or some shit. Poli Sci was the same, with varying modes of pissing each other off: anywhere from ignoring each other, to insincere small-talk, to shouting matches that had actually ended up with Amelia getting thrown out of Professor Zwingli's class once.

But Astronomy was the freshest on her mind: Braginski had just walked in that night and set up his telescope at the farthest station away from her, done his work with inhuman speed, and asked to be excused from class early. Apparently he'd been in a silent-brooding-make-Amelia-feel-like-shit kind of mood.

Well it wasn't going to work! She hadn't done anything wrong! It was his fault for overreacting. Her empty can joined its brethren, piles of crushed bodies littered across Kiku's otherwise spotless floor.

"Is something the matter, Amelia?" Kiku asked. "You've not been yourself for a while."

"It's nothing Kiks," she forced a smile. "Just been…tense in class lately."

"Ah, it concerns Mr. Braginski, doesn't it?"

"You gotten over that yet?" Arthur leaned over the back of the couch, having for some reason the capacity to nit-pick the bastard's name from across a crowded stadium.

Amelia made a wild throat cutting gesture with her hand, head jerking to Kiku. _He doesn't know, you limey freak!_ Arthur's eyebrows quirked. _Why not? _

"Over what exactly?" Kiku interrupted their silent exchange.

"Nothing," Amelia said quickly. "Just…uh…he's mad at me. Or I'm mad at him. We're mad at each other. I think."

"Why?"

"Reasons," she twirled around in the chair, not wanting to get into it. "How's Yao doing?" Because that was a sure fire way to change the subject around Kiku. Yao was continuously trying to one-up him, but cut corners to do it. Something Kiku positively despised.

But Kiku just shrugged. "I don't see him often. For the past few days, he has spent a lot of time with Mr. Braginski."

"Oh," Amelia knew that shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did.

Her phone buzzed. She wheeled over to the night stand to open up a message from Antonio.

**Tonio: Step 1 in educe-say talian-iay complete!**

**Amelia: …should I b worried?**

**Tonio: had whole conversation. Did not insult me ONCE**

**Amelia: *throws rice* **

**Tonio: well…did not insult me more than once a sentence…**

**Amelia: …**

**Amelia: oh yeah, only a matter of time**

"That the Spaniard?" Arthur said idly as he scrolled through Kiku's selection of horror movies.

"Yeah," Amelia settled on the bed next to Kiku, wiggling close to him even as he tried to shift away. "Updated me on his gay-ventures with Lovino. Doesn't seem like Lovi's budging."

"Smart chap."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You only say that because you hate Antonio."

"Quite so," Arthur said, leaning back. "You got any _English_ titles in here, Kiku?"

"Keep looking. Why are you and Mr. Braginski fighting, exactly? Perhaps I can help."

Amelia opened her mouth, but Arthur spoke up loudly from the couch. "Not unless you can snap her out of this weird crush she's got on him."

"Arthur!" Which made him look up. She never called him Arthur.

"What the bloody—" his sentence cut off with an _oomph_ as Amelia landed on him.

"You sonuvabitch," she panted, slapping at his head. "You telling everyone that now?" she braced her legs on the couch as he tried to throw her off, "I thought we were _friends_."

"I didn't tell _anyone_," he wheezed, pinching her side. She went still, trying not to laugh at the tickle, and he used it as a window to heave her onto the floor. "Jesus Christ, calm yourself woman. He's just a bloke. Honestly, I thought girls liked guys they were friends with. Eventually. Why the hell haven't you fallen for Kiku or me, eh?"

Amelia sat up on her elbows, suddenly filled with all the old angst of the Sexual Preferences Scandal that had been overshadowed recently by Cold War Two-Point-Oh. "Because you and Kiks are gay."

She heard the mattress creak as Kiku sit up quickly. Arthur looked at her, shocked. "What the fuck?"

"Did I get it wrong?" She looked between them.

"Well, er," Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "Not in, well, not in _my_ case, no." Amelia tried not to laugh in relief. He glanced over at Kiku. "I didn't, er, know if you…" Amelia saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

Kiku nodded slowly. "She is right. Strangely enough."

"Come on, give me some credit," Amelia huffed as she climbed back onto the couch, shoving Arthur onto the armchair next to her. "Ever since I got blind-sided by Antonio I decided to just…pay a little more attention to you guys. It's not like you didn't tell me either way." She narrowed her eyes at them. "Why _didn't _you tell me, either way?"

They had the decency to look ashamed. "I didn't think it was a big deal," Arthur said. "It's just the way it's always been."

"Yeah, yeah, likely story. And what's _your_ excuse, Kiks?"

"I," Kiku swallowed. "I was a-afraid of offending you."

_What?_ Shame seeped into Amelia's bones.

"Why on earth would that offend me?"

Kiku blushed, not used to the weight of Amelia and a curious Arthur's gazes. "When I told my family, they were." He looked away. "And I think they were…relieved when I received the appointment to the Academy so far away."

Amelia gasped, feeling a torrent of sympathy wash against her conscious, threatening to bash her brain in. _I'm such a bitch, obsessing over him not telling me. Especially when he had that hanging over him._

"Kiks, I fucking love everything about you. I don't give a damn if you want to," a few choice scenes from the manga flashed in her mind, making her blush. "_Be _with guys, I don't care. You either," she threw in Arthur's direction. "I'd never be ashamed of either of you. You guys are my home boys."

"Thanks for that," Arthur said. "How'd you know anyways?"

"Kiks has some…nice reading material."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and glanced at the wall, eyeing the books with a surprised interest.

"What about Arthur?" Kiku said, not bothering to wonder when Amelia had had time to explore his personal library. Amelia cringed. She laughed nervously.

"Please, with the amount of time we spend together, and him _not_ making a move on my awesome self? Give me a challenge, Artie."

"…you guessed didn't you?"

"Yes I did."

Arthur sulked against his chair, scowling. Amelia leaned over, spilling off of the couch and half onto his lap. "I'm sorrrrrry I didn't spent a proportional amount of recon on what you like to jack off to" she pouted. He spluttered, trying his best to turn away from her. "Artie come on, I've had the worst month ever."

"That isn't my problem."

"First I find out you guys don't trust me with your dick secrets and then me and Braginski are _whatever, _and he makes me feel like I shot his dog _while_ he makes my life the same hell he usually does and—"

"Oh my God," Arthur grit through his teeth. "I forgive you okay, just bloody shut up."

"I thought gay guys liked girl talk," Amelia said, retreating back to her place on the couch.

"Your stereotypes are showing," Arthur said blandly. He seemed a bit miffed, and Amelia wondered slyly if she'd ruined some dramatic plot he'd had to tell her later down the road.

"I love you guys," she announced after a second. "I don't think I say it enough."

"You say it plenty," Arthur mumbled, but she saw a blush on his cheeks.

"Mr. Braginski is an idiot," Kiku said as he settled beside her. Amelia could feel phantom tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. She snuggled against him, and he didn't shy away. He was stiff and didn't look very comfortable, but Amelia loved, loved, _loved_ him for making the effort.

Her pride still stung when she recalled how Ivan had looked at her. She still didn't know when he'd acquired enough affection (ugh it made her shudder) that he was _Ivan_ now, but it wasn't changing. Knowing that she had a fondness for him justified it even more; like saying anything less wouldn't do him justice.

Arthur clicked one of the more gore-y looking movies and Kiku tapped a button on his remote that killed the lights. She decided to push away any thoughts that weren't about trying to survive the next two hours with her dignity intact.

* * *

Antonio whined from his spot across from Amelia's sofa in the student lounge that next Monday. Stacks of papers surrounded him threateningly, like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey, and he'd already chewed two pencils in half. Seeing him so stressed was new for Amelia. But it really was his fault, waiting for the last possible moment to do his military history project.

"I could help you out," Amelia offered meekly, but the extent of her combat knowledge was strictly limited to American conflicts. Some reference books he'd gotten from the library were nearly falling to dust they were so old.

Antonio smiled at her. "_Es beuno_, Amelia. Lie in the bed I made, yes? I don't know if I could—"

His voice died away and Amelia sat up straighter and swiveled her head in the direction Antonio's eyes had gone.

"What is…oh," Amelia swallowed. A guy had entered the lounge, and from both his startling resemblance to Feli and Antonio's look of a dog drooling over a bone, Amelia quickly discerned that he was Lovino.

"That's the guy giving you blue balls?" Amelia said loudly.

Even though he was thirty feet away, Lovino seemed to hear her and fixed their general area with a scowl. Antonio laughed uncomfortably. "Amelia, please."

"What's with that look? Oh my God did he swallow a fucking lemon? Who the hell looks that pissed all the time?"

"Amelia shut up, shut up. He's coming…oh _Dios_, he's coming over here."

"Sorry, am I cramping your style?"

"Of course not, but you aren't exactly the most subtle—Ah! Lovi, how are you today?"

Lovino stood with his hips cocked, arms crossed. Now, _him_, Amelia could have guessed was gay. He was fucking gorgeous, but something about the way he held himself made Amelia automatically think _nope_ (well actually it was more like _fuck, please? Goddammit nope—fuck)_. His face had none of the roundness that Feli's did, coming off as much more grown-up, almost to a brutal degree. But his eyes made up for it, huge and the prettiest hazel, shifting from forest green to an almost golden brown on a whim. It actually made Amelia pissed, that guys this good looking decided to hog all the fun and just chase after each other. Or, Amelia thought in this case, chase and heartlessly deny each other.

"Fucking great. This your little chick on the side? Had enough of that shitty French pervert?" Lovino said, a bored edge creeping into his voice as his eyes roved over Amelia. "Cute enough, if you like fucking Amazons."

The air around Amelia seemed to freeze. She'd give the little bastard ten seconds to run.

"No, no, _mi amour, _you misunderstand. Francis is like that with everyone! And Amelia is not anything!" Antonio waved his arms in front of him, trying to give a warning, but Lovino didn't pay him any attention.

"Anything to get you off my back, I guess. Have fun with her."

_ZERO. _"You fucking _PRICK_," Amelia exploded, leaping off the couch into Lovino's face. He was taller than his brother, but not by much. She stood head to head with him. "You don't talk to Antonio like that, and you _sure _as fuck don't talk to me like that. Get your head out of your ass. For some reason Antonio doesn't seem to want to stick his dick anywhere that isn't near you. And fuck you for thinking so _much_ of me, being his 'girl' on the side. Go fuck yourself, dude."

Antonio's jaw unhinged, his eyes widened in horror. But Lovino stepped back and settled onto the sofa that Amelia had vacated, stretching out lazily like a cat. "I like you," he said, a coy smile playing across his face. "You can be _my_ lady on the side if you want."

Amelia _tsk_ed and sat back down as far away from him as she could. "You wish, gayboy."

Antonio let out the biggest lungful of air he'd probably ever held. "I don't like sharing anyway."

"Sharing what, exactly?" Lovino challenged, leaning his face into the cup of his palm.

"The ride of a lifetime," Antonio wiggled his eyebrows, any apprehension he'd felt at the unintended meeting gone.

Lovino rolled his eyes and muttered something in Italian as he snapped open a newspaper that had been left on the nearest table. "What are you drowning under?" He said a few minutes later, not looking up from the business section.

"War of the Polish Succession," came a moan from where Antonio was slumped over his notebook.

Lovino chuckled unsympathetically. "Should have done your fucking homework, idiot."

Antonio launched into a three minute defense of his actions, listing everything from guitar lessons to someone tricking him into taking extra-long _siestas_ as reasons for his predicament.

And if Amelia hadn't been watching Lovino out of the corner of her eye (she wasn't completely sure about him yet) she would've missed the small fraction of a smile on Lovino's face as he watched Antonio complain and lick his thumb to flip through pages. Maybe he wasn't such a heartless freak, she reasoned. Maybe he…she rubbed at her temple. Maybe he was just freaked out by liking Antonio that he overreacted.

…fuck, was she even thinking about Lovino anymore?

It wasn't until a few hours later, when the last of the afternoon classes got out and packed the lounge with students that Antonio was close to finishing. She was oddly caught up with her homework by that time, so she was ecstatic for the new company. Tino, Feli, and Maddie sat cross legged at the coffee table, and Ludwig and Kiku came together from their last engineering course.

"Where's our little punk?" Amelia asked, sensing the off-kilter feng shui of not have a Brit in the southern corner.

"Language lab slot opened up because someone was sick," Kiku said. "He thought it would be a good excuse to perfect his swearing in French."

That was weird, Amelia thought as she double checked her phone for messages. Usually Arthur sent her a text ahead. Maybe he'd just forgotten to forward it to her as well.

"Thanksgiving is this Thursday," Tino said excitedly, swatting at Amelia's leg. "I can't wait! My first! I've only seen it in a few American films. I even looked up pictures on the internet, it looks…different. But really good!"

"_Ja_," Ludwig said. "It was a good idea."

"_Ve_, of course, Amelia," Feli jumped at the opportunity to comment with Ludwig. _Really_, Amelia thought as Ludwig barely acknowledged him, _at least I'm not _that _thick. _

The talk was idle for the next twenty or so minutes, and Amelia was just about to make an excuse to go to the gym or grab a quick nap before dinner when Lovino said something that made her chest want to implode.

"Is that the Chinese representative with that Russian bastard again? I swear, they've been spending tons of time together lately. Anyone know if they're fucking or something?"

Maddie and Kiku froze and looked at Amelia. She tried to keep her cool. _Please, please, please keep cool._ She turned to notice that at the front of the room, Yao and Ivan were definitely talking intensely about something, their heads low and together in the hustle and hum of the other students around them. Yao said something that made Ivan chuckle, his shoulders shaking and his eyes closing. _Braginski is smiling, he's laughing_, Amelia thought distractedly as she jerked up.

_I—_

_I'm such an idiot._

"I have to…I mean, there's," she opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I have to go take care of something."

She ignored her friend's confused stares as she made her way to the back stairwell. No one used it except for emergencies (or—according to Eliza, who seemed to know every aspect of people's romantic lives—a quick make out session). She made it about halfway down before a sharp tightening in her chest forced her to sit, breathing loudly.

She'd never…for some reason she hadn't even considered the possibility. Which was so stupid, Amelia acknowledged to herself. A vast majority of her friends had absolutely no interest in her sex. It was naïve of her not to assume the same for him. Tears threatened to pour over her eyes, and she cursed herself. Crying over him wouldn't solve anything. She hated the very notion of being reduced to crying over a boy. But she couldn't help it. It felt like someone was spearing her chest, and _not _crying about that pain seemed just as stupid as crying over Braginski.

A loud bang and echo from the top of the stairwell told her someone had opened the door. Quick footsteps scurried down the stairs until Amelia heard them halt a few feet behind her.

"It's nothing," she said, wiping at her face. "I'm just tired—"

"It's me," Maddie said, her dress rustling as she smoothed it to sit next to Amelia.

"So," She continued as Amelia shook beside her. "I assume you were not being truthful the night after the debate?"

Amelia coughed out a watery chuckle. "I'm still pissed at Eliza for that. Fucking perv."

"Amelia…" and ugh, Maddie sounded so much like a kicked parent that she had to look at her. "It's not the worst thing in the world to like someone."

Her snort sounded kind of snotty and gross in the echoing of the stairwell, but it was better than crying. "Doesn't really matter if he's into guys though," she said nastily.

"You don't know that—"

"Yeah, but every _other_ guy that's here fucking bats for the other team, so why the fuck not him?" She felt bad when Maddie winced. _Making me be mean to Maddie. _"Besides, he doesn't care. Fucker's probably been happier since we started up Cold War 2."

Maddie shook her head. "I've heard down the grapevine that he's had a pretty rough couple of weeks, too."

"We talking about the same Ivan Braginski? Rumored Mafia boss, reviles in his enemies misfortunes, probably hits small children with a pipe?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Jeez, give him some slack, Amelia. I've been in the Academy system for five freaking years now, and I know kids like him. He's really alone, Amelia. He most definitely is probably missing whatever freaky sort of almost-friendship you guys had. And he's more than likely not gay."

"What makes you say that?" Amelia asked.

Maddie shrugged, leaning against the hard step behind her. "Statistics. Gil and Rodreich can't be the only straight guys here. Besides, I'm supposed to keep an eye on you girls, I saw the way he looked at you."

"He seemed pretty chummy with Yao," Amelia pointed out, wincing when she realized how much she was channeling a fucking thirteen year old girl. She hung off Arthur and Antonio like a fucking leech sometimes. And Kiku, if he would let her. She didn't exactly have room to talk. But something made her want to scream. She was tired of not knowing for sure.

That's why she hated liking someone, there was always an underlying suspicion. Doubt. Fear. It shouldn't feel like she had to run through every aspect of her life for fear of rejection. Besides, he _knew_ none of her friends were like that. Didn't he?

"So what?" Maddie said. "I don't think he would risk suspension for Yao."

Amelia cocked her head. "What are you talking about?"

"It happened the week after your Cold War debate, after your friend fainted in the committee meeting. Some Cuban kid was talking crap about your speech. And of course he wasn't in your class and didn't know what the heck he was saying, but what he _was _saying was not very…nice of him. Ivan shut him up pretty quickly though. He punched him so hard his head nearly flew off. The administration tried to take care of it really fast, so that's why you probably haven't heard it."

"Iv—Braginski, he," Amelia distinctly remembered now, the sound of a thud after she'd left the meeting with Toris. The huge molten bruises on his hand the next night in astronomy. "He did that for me?"

"Well, his official stance when he went before the disciplinary board was that it was ideological based, but you didn't see Ludwig punching out the guy who tweeted those things about his defense of the Kaiser."

Amelia sat back, her chest feeling a bit more stable but the rest of her went jittery, not knowing what to do with this new information. Is that why he had been so pissed about it? Had he just hadn't wanted to think about punching Alvarez? Or what the bastard had said? Or having to go before the disciplinary board before the first semester of school was over? A combination of everything?

And _she'd _told _him_ he was a shitty friend.

"I was a bitch to him," Amelia admitted quietly. "He did that for me and he said…"

Maddie sighed as she stood up. She turned and offered her hand out. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, one way or the other."

After a second, Amelia nodded and hoisted herself up. They made their way back up the stairwell, or at least they _tried_.

"Surprise, little bird!" Gilbert threw open the door and swung Maddie up and over his shoulder. Amelia stood, shocked, as he raced through the lounge amidst catcalls and wolf-whistles. "So _awesome_! Make way for the couple of the millennia!"

* * *

**Had to end it on a little happy note~ **

**Sorry for the kind of angsty rusame feelings. I'm so glad for reviewers because the fight I had originally written in this chapter was...pretty weak. But this one wasn't too strong. I wanted to do you guys justice because the make up next chapter is pretty funny and sweet and it turns out I like it a lot better since they aren't fighting over something _completely _stupid. It kind of...means more i guess. So I'm sorry if you hate seeing Amelia and Ian fight but I promise, promise, promise they get over it. Spoilers.**

**Also, Notes in the Margin is the name of the fic I talked about last time, and that has gotten a lovely response, so buckets of thanks for that and go check it out if you haven't. **

**Thanks so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing and following and favoriting...god you guys don't know much it means to me ****  
**

**See ya soon!**


	9. Chapter 9

***pokes head in* hey guys...Ugh I so so so sososo sorry for how long I waited for this chapter. I was so concerned about wanting to get ahead with this story that I completely neglected the fact that finals and a new semester would've gotten in the way anyway and I should have just released it. Please forgive me. I hope this chapter makes it up to you and I promise I'll work really hard not to make you wait this long for an update. I hated it when authors did that and now here I am doing the same. **

**So without further ado, please enjoy this peace offering in the form of Chapter 9 :)**

* * *

"All I'm saying is you could have helped me _a little bit_," Maddie fumed at Amelia as they got ready for Thanksgiving dinner in her dorm room. "That freak nearly got me all the way off campus before I managed to mace him."

"I was in shock," Amelia shrugged. "Plus I was emotionally damaged. Not good factors that go into rescuing a damsel, ya feel?"

"Whatever," Maddie spat venomously. "Zip me up."

"Gil's gonna love the dress."

Amelia swore Maddie _growled _at her.

"So you got a plan?" The brisk walk towards the student hall was doing Maddie's temper good, and by the time the building was in sight, Amelia was confident that she wouldn't be a threat to the regular passersby.

Amelia didn't have to ask what kind of _plan_ Maddie had meant. They had left boys and any plans to re-befriend boys out of their conversations for the past few days. It had been…much calmer that way. Not nearly as stressful; but it seemed they'd been trying to ignore a huge elephant in the room. "Not sure," she settled on saying.

"Okay," was all Maddie said. Amelia smiled. It was a relief that Mellow Maddie was her knight in shining armor this time. Arthur and maybe even Kiku would have been at least a little bit inquisitive. Amelia might not have noticed it right off the bat, but she'd taken no time at all to realize that those two were fucking _queens_ when it came to everyone else's business and _What no, how improper of course I don't care—wait, what was his name again?_ Fucking long ass title but really they (Arthur) deserved it. But Maddie trusted her to either do the right thing or screw up all on her own.

The student hall didn't necessarily look any different than it normally did, but students who had cared to vote on the issue had put forth a little effort to change out of their school uniforms into a kind of dress casual. The staff, normally absent from the hall, had their own table near the front and were chattering excitedly as they waited for the food to come out.

About a dozen hands grabbed Amelia as she stepped into the threshold. Her initial shriek of panic was quelled as she registered the festive faces of the few Latin and South American representatives that had remained close since her unintentional meeting with them during Orientation.

"_Hola! _Happy Thanksgiving!" They chorused to her.

"_Gracias._" Amelia attacked, squeezing each one around the middle. She held onto Maria for an extra half of a second to ease the still wobbling doubt in the girl's big brown eyes, as if she was unsure if Amelia had forgiven her for her slip a few weeks ago.

Amelia wouldn't lie and say she was extremely close to them, but they were just so fucking cute and nice. And she felt a little special; they didn't hang with a bunch of _gringos_, and Amelia liked speaking Spanish with them a lot more than she did with Antonio. He said she had horrid structure. _Pfft, whatevs._

Amelia almost didn't notice Maddie calling her name until a sharp tug accompanied the Canadian's soft voice. "Oh! Sorry Mads, I thought you'd snuck off somewhere."

"I've been here the whole time," Maddie snapped.

"_Un poco temperamental, ¿no es asi?_" Amelia whispered behind her hand to Maria, Javier, Diego, Isabella, and Santiago. They giggled back and Amelia shrugged her shoulders innocently at Maddie, who looked furious (but in a strange, timid, way, so Amelia didn't really take it seriously).

Maria called out a greeting to Alvarez, and Maddie tugged on Amelia's arm, not wanting any kind of confrontation. For once, Amelia agreed with Maddie's pacifism

The guy sauntered up, and Amelia grabbed Maddie, saying a quick, polite goodbye to her friends and making sure to 'accidentally' bump into Alvarez. She hoped that Ivan had done something about that stupid smirk when he decked him. An unexpected flare of pride for the Russian broke through her when she noticed one eye was still a little swollen.

"Finally," Maddie whined as they cleared earshot. "You guys are so hard to follow when you talk like that."

"Sorry," Amelia shrugged, not feeling very sorry at all. Maddie spoke English, French, Italian, and Hungarian, but couldn't be bothered to sit in a few slots with a Spanish tutor? Not _her_ problem.

They found their usual group seated around the end of a far table.

"Not too bad," Lovino said, eyeing the spread of food that was starting to be served. He tried to not make a big deal of his unexpected presence, but Antonio was positively giddy at his right.

Amelia's phone buzzed.

**Tonio: how mad would he be if I tried to cop a feel?**

**Amelia: nuclear**

**Tonio: I'd just be showing how thankful I am for him!**

**Amelia: I don't think that's what the pilgrims had in mind**

She pointedly turned her phone off and Antonio sighed loudly. _What a baby, _she thought as the last of the food was put out. As the technical proprietor of that year's Thanksgiving, she'd had to email her mom for recipes from back home so that the kitchen staff got it just right. It looked like they'd done a pretty awesome job, too. Nearly two dozen turkeys, a few glazed hams, mountains of mashed potatoes with rivers of gravy, platters of stuffing and baked yams, and crystal bowls of cranberry sauce decked nearly every surface of the tables. And plenty of Amelia's personal favorite, green bean casserole.

"Fuck yes," she whispered as the dean stood for a before the meal blessing. He said it in Italian, so she only heard a few scattered words like 'thank you', 'students', 'very lucky', 'good food'. The lining of Amelia's stomach was primed to devour itself by the time the dean closed his little speech and she allowed herself to dig in.

The timid scraping of forks and knifes was heard through the room, and as Amelia finally got a few mouthfuls in, she observed probably the funniest meal she'd seen since coming to the Academy. The people near her seemed to be trying to watch her from the corner of their eyes, judging the best way to eat or what to eat.

Antonio made a face as he mixed his cranberry sauce with the stuffing. "Jesus Christ this is…weird."

"So good though!" Amelia moaned around another forkful. "Trust me you get used to it. It's not supposed to be normal. It's _thanksgiving _food."

"Too much turkey," Arthur eyed his plate disapprovingly. "I'll never understand why you Americans are so partial to it."

"The turkey is like, the second most revered bird at my place, okay, Artie? It was almost my national symbol. Don't be talkin' shit about my delicious pals."

The scraping of cutlery on plates and scrambling for seconds soon proved her right. People seemed to be surprised by how much they liked it. _Of course, fucking American food is the best!_

Amelia stretched out after nearly twenty minutes of eating, feeling odd. It was her first Thanksgiving away from home, but it wasn't as bad as she'd originally thought. The notion that she was a depraved daughter for not missing home as much as she ought to tickled at her mind. She tried to brush it away, the food in her stomach not feeling as comforting as it had a moment ago.

"_Magnifico_," Feli said from across the table, patting the little food baby at his middle. Damn, that boy could put it away. No pasta in sight, but Amelia was pretty sure he'd eaten at least half of a turkey.

"Go around and say what you're thankful for," Amelia said, using a bone splinter from the drumstick to pick at her teeth, which made Arthur shudder with disgust.

"Oh! Oh! I'll start!" Antonio grabbed Lovino's hand. The blushing Italian tried violently to pull it away, but Antonio was determined to keep him prisoner. "I'm Thankful for all of you, Lovino, and this good food!" It wasn't a second later that Lovino's fist crashed down on Antonio's skull, causing him to yelp. "What was that for?!"

"If you're going to include me, asshole, say me _first_," Lovino huffed, finally pulling his other hand free.

The following sentiments were rather tame: thanks for good professors, family back home, new friends, and good health. "I'll tell you what I'm _not_ thankful for," Maddie muttered after she'd made her statement to the group. "That sexual harassment isn't stopped by a swift kick in the jewels. The movies lie. All it does is make Gilbert more persistent."

Amelia giggled and looked at Gilbert out of the corner of her eye. He had been surprisingly calm this whole evening, sipping out of his smuggled flask with about as much enthusiasm as a sponge. That tugged on her heartstrings more than anything. It was like seeing a sweet kid get coal for Christmas. She scooted her plate over and shoved Arthur out of the way so that she could loop her arm through Gilbert's.

"Hey, big bro," Amelia said softly, smiling at him. That worked a little, seeing as Gilbert was a sucker for his 'little siblings'. The edges of his mouth tugged up.

"How's it, little bird?"

"Better if I knew what was irking you. You never look this down."

"I could say the same about you. You might be better at hiding it than me, but you're not top-self tonight either."

Amelia cringed. "Come on, man. The last few weeks haven't been the best."

"_Ja_, I know."

"You know what exactly?" Amelia played with her food.

"I know that fighting with people you'd…rather not fight with is like, the hardest thing ever. It's like they don't appreciate how awesome we are."

He wasn't even looking at Amelia anymore, she noticed. He was looking at Maddie like he had been forced to wander the desert and she was the first drink of water he'd been promised in years. A thick wad somehow made its way into Amelia's throat. She looked at her plate to make sure no one had replaced her potatoes with cotton balls. Amelia shook herself, taking one last peek at Gilbert before trying to look anywhere else. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted someone to look at her like that. That amount of devotion and determination, she didn't think she could handle it. Just the thought of it threatened to set her on fire.

What she also noticed as she swept the perimeter, was that a certain presence was missing. A giant, Russian-shaped hole gaped where he normally made his place with the Eastern European countries. Amelia even checked to see if he was by his buddy Yao before she came to the conclusion that he just wasn't there.

Should she say something? But that would seem stupid to the people that didn't know they were fighting…more than usual, that is. A steel-like resolve flashed through her, followed by a lightning strike of white-fury. _Screw him_ for not showing up. For ruining her plan to patch things up between them. Granted she hadn't thought of one yet, but _dammit _maybe she _could have_ if he was here!

"Amelia, you okay?" Arthur tapped her on the hand. "It's your turn for thanks."

"I, uh," she grit her teeth. "I'll be back in a sec, I need some air."

She ignored the murmurings of the people behind her as she shut the door to the hall. Stars erupted from the back of her eyelids as she ground the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Leave it to Ivan to get in her head when he wasn't even in the fucking _room_. And being angry at their predicament and then even more angry at not being able to fix it that night like she'd planned did not make for a good mood to give thanks.

Amelia half expected someone to join her, but was relieved when no one followed. Maybe they'd learnt from the incident in the lounges. All she needed was a few minutes to herself.

The air outside was nippy, the mild climate finally stuttering into the cold snaps of late fall. Amelia wished she had remembered to take her little shawl-thingy Maddie had insisted she wear; she recalled forlornly that it was draped over the seat she'd just sprung out of.

Goosebumps raised on the flesh of her arms as she made her way down the slope of the hill towards the athletic center. She wasn't dressed for any kind of physical activity, but she remembered the fountain not too far away from the entrance of the building. A few laps around that and maybe she'd get it back in her wits that she was one of the luckiest girls on the planet and once again be grateful for the fact.

But instead she nearly had a _fucking_ heart attack. The outline of a person was disguised by the figurines of the fountain until she was about five feet away. Only then was she able to discern that _hey, one of those guys is waaay off center, and freaking huge, and too lifelike_—

Ivan.

"You've gotta be shitting me," Amelia wheezed as she clutched her chest. Ivan himself startled, standing quickly from where he had been sitting near the fountain's edge. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Ivan took a pull from a bottle Amelia hadn't seen at his side. He smacked his lips together. "I could ask you the same. Shouldn't you be inside, celebrating?"

Amelia took a few steps closer. In the clear light of the moon, his eyes seemed a little too bright, and the thick smell of something that coated Amelia's throat like chloroform nearly gagged her.

"Are you _drunk_, Ivan?"

His mouth turned up in a smile. "Still Ivan to you, how lucky for me. But no, not drunk. Villains do not make it that easy, _da? _My level of tolerance is unmatched." He drank for a few seconds more as if to prove his point. "You did not answer my question." He may not have been shit-faced, but his accent had become more pronounced. It just this side of understandable. _And really, really hot_, some part of Amelia's brain that she was unfamiliar with insisted on adding.

"I needed some air," Amelia said.

Ivan scoffed. "Too many adoring friends?"

She paused to make sure he saw her face. "You know better than I do that a lot of people here can't stand me."

He sat back down, and she noticed he tightened his left fist, as if curled to punch in someone else's face. "I see."

"You didn't have to do that, you know, I can fight my own fights," Amelia said as she cautiously approached him again. He didn't protest as she sat next to him; she made sure to keep at least a foot between them.

Ivan shrugged his massive shoulders. "He was a _tupitsa_. I was doing everyone around him a favor, not you."

Amelia nodded, and he took another drink. "You know, I asked first. I know you were opposed to the idea of this dinner but I thought…you could've come anyway."

"I did, why you think I made myself up to be this pretty?" He gestured to his clothes, which Amelia hadn't taken the time to notice. His button-up shirt was plain but clean, and it looked like his slacks had been recently ironed.

"You're a prince," Amelia flourished her hand, nodding deeply in his direction.

"Tsar," Ivan corrected, pointing at her with the hand that was curled around the neck of his bottle. "Please, have some respect."

"My apologies, Tsar Fuckhead the Second," Amelia snapped, using his second of anger to snatch the vodka from his grasp. "Ha!"

She danced away, laughing not unkindly as he stumbled in his first few steps to catch up to her. She hopped onto the lip of the fountain, dangling the vodka over his head. The otherwise cool glass was warm were he'd put his mouth, and Amelia tipped the half-empty bottle back for a swallow while Ivan sputtered in exasperation. "That is high quality!—"

The liquid hit her throat and Amelia started _dying_. "Oh my _God!_" The burn was unbearable, like someone had forced her to swallow hot coals. And the _taste. _Mother_fucker_—it tasted like fucking nail polish remover! She was half sure acid was a main component too, by the way it felt like the inside of her body was being eaten away. "High quality my _ass_!" She rubbed viciously at her tongue, still hacking and coughing and trying her best to spit out whatever was left in her mouth.

"What the fuck is that, the devil's piss?" Amelia finally thrust the bottle back at Ivan, pushing it into his chest as she jumped down.

He took it dumbly. She saw his barely contained smile. He was trying damn hard not to giggle too, she just knew it. "Shut up."

"I did not say anything," Ivan said innocently. "Nothing about your acquired tastes. Or lack thereof."

She glared at him, and he straightened his shoulders, the playfulness draining from him. "Why don't you go back to your little party?"

_Right_…_about that_…"I—well I. I was planning to do this when I saw you there, but then of course you _weren't_ there and I got pissed off," she dragged her sweaty palms against the fabric of her dress. "So I come out here to clear my head. And then I find you out here, and you're drunk off your ass and maybe I hoped you'd forgotten that we were mad at each other or whatever. And we kind of did for like, forty seconds. But now we're back to where we started and you probably won't even remember this—"

"Is there a point to this? And. Not drunk," Ivan said indignantly, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, good for you. So since you're not trashed, I thought I would," she coughed, hoping he would attribute it to her still burning throat. "…hhupuhlowgize."

Ivan tilted his head to the side. "I'm sorry. Was that last part English?"

"I said I came to…" she mumbled something into her hand.

"This is a waste of my time," Ivan said, shaking his head and gathering himself to leave.

"I CAME TO APOLOGIZE, ALRIGHT?" The outburst silenced both of them for a few moments. Ivan blinked a few times at her.

"I do not…"

"Just shut up, okay? Please, just shut up." Amelia took a few deep breaths, absently praying to whoever felt like listening. _Please don't make me look like an even bigger dumbass._ "Look, I'm sorry for what I said after class, okay. It was stupid, and thoughtless and I'm really fucking sorry. I was just—I was scared. You happy? We were getting along so much better and I turned to fucking chicken-shit because it was new to me and you didn't do everything by the book.

"And I miss you. I know that sounds stupid because all we do is fight and you're really weird sometimes, but usually it's a good kind of fighting. And we forget the weird stuff. Mostly. Just…the past weeks have been a complete and total fuck up. I feel like shit every time I look at you or we yell at each other and I know I deserve it but I don't want to anymore. I couldn't even say what I was thankful for when I was in that stupid dinner because we're fighting and I'm not thankful for that. I'm _not._"

Amelia's face was _burning_ despite the chill of the air. It felt like someone had drenched her face in vodka. Her humiliation only deepened when several seconds passed as Ivan just stared blankly at her, motionless in the light of the moon.

"Yeah, so," Amelia cleared her throat thickly. Allergies, because she was not _crying_ over this idiot. "My friends are—they're probably wondering where I scampered off to. I'm just…" She let the words die between them, sucking on her teeth. _What did you expect?_

The coolness of the night flushed anew over her still slightly feverish skin, a baptism of a defeated hope. She'd gotten nearly halfway back up the hill when a hand yanked her back roughly. "Christ!" She yelped, whirling around on Ivan, smacking him in the rib cage. "Um, _hello_, that kind of hurt!"

Ivan didn't seem to hear her. _"Kak ya mog byt' sumasshedshim, malyshka_"

"Speak fucking _English_, you bast—"

She swallowed the rest of her words quickly, afraid of breathing as Ivan leaned up from his lower step. He pulled her closer. They were nearly touching, connected only where his hand still grasped her forearm, close enough that Amelia could see the clearness of his eyes, despite how much he'd been drinking. He tugged her closer, nearly crushing her in a bear hug.

_Holy fuck he's strong_, Amelia gasped as she tried to swat at him. And she was definitely _not_ taking note of the girth of his shoulders, or how warm his breath was at her neck. Or how it smelled like the vodka he'd been drinking and something that might have been pumpkin.

"You are forgiven," he whispered. Amelia wasn't sure if he intentionally nuzzled her ear, but by the satisfied smile he gave her as her breath hitched, she wanted to kick him either way. He finally put her down, and Amelia huffed as she straightened her clothes.

"Good," she said. That was what she'd came for, right? So why wouldn't her legs fucking _move_?

Ivan smiled. "I will see you in class tomorrow, comrade." He stared back up the stairs, disappearing from view.

Her feet stayed frozen for a good minute. She ghosted her hand over her forearm, past her ear, wondering at the phantom touch that seemed to continue its presence long after his leave. The girly part of her brain that was having a whole lot more to say in the past few months was giddy, but the rest of her felt like throwing up.

* * *

Somehow she found her way back into the student hall. Somehow she laughed and joked and was able to properly give her toast. She kissed all her friends at the end of the dinner, just because she felt like it. (She'd had to practically pin Artie down and then conversely fight off Gil and Antonio. Bruises shaped like their lips would probably surface all over her face in the morning.) Maddie linked her arm through Amelia's on the way back to the dorms.

"That was really fun, Amelia," Maddie gushed. Amelia hummed, not really hearing her. "I always love Thanksgiving on the Academy campus…"

While it still felt as though she was having a weird, out of body experience, Amelia gradually brought herself down as Maddie stopped, yanking her back a little.

"Is Ivan…Is Ivan Braginski waving at you?" Amelia's head snapped up, and she indeed saw a giant of a silhouette raise an arm from across the quad, where all the boys were being…_boys_ and shoving and yelling after each other.

"Guess so," Amelia gave him an exaggerated salute and pulled Maddie forward.

"When did that happen?" Maddie's pitch increased dramatically with playful inquisitiveness. "Did you apologize? Did you make up? Did you _kiss_ and make up?"

"Shut up!" Amelia squawked. "We did _not_!"

Which only made Maddie squeal and coo louder. "We knew it we knew it we knew it!"

Amelia was too peeved to want to know which delusional classmates made up the 'we'.

"I'm going to bed," she said curtly as they got to their floor, nearly breaking down her door in an effort to get away from Maddie's _singing_ as fast as possible. She could still hear her through the wood for a few seconds before she shoved in ear buds and cranked up her iPod.

So what, they'd made up. Big whoop. Amelia sighed as she got ready for bed. They'd just go back to that short-lived window after the debate and before astronomy. Arguments that didn't hold any malice, teasing, maybe even conversations that didn't put them at each other's throats for once. Nothing else. That was fine.

It _was, _she nearly ground her teeth as she tried to convince herself.

Amelia made a face at her iPod. Her Adele had abruptly stopped and something else started playing. She must have tapped the wrong button. She didn't recognize this playlist. Someone had mixed a weird classical music of some kind; whoever did it wasn't too bad, because the overall effect wasn't as horrifying as you'd think. She let it play out for a while. It was a little too…Amelia struggled to find the word. Breathy, she decided. Almost too slow with the build ups.

It kind of grew on you, and Amelia found herself humming and trying her best to air-conduct the complex cacophony of orchestras as she laid back on her bed.

The vibration of her phone on the pillow beside her broke her from the reverie of the music.

**Eliza: Rodreich doesn't like mixing, but I thought I did a good job, no?**

Eliza made her a playlist? And somehow managed to send it to her wirelessly? Amelia tried to not be weirded out. Maybe it was her way of making up for being a weird sex-fiend that forced her friends to think strange things about other classmates.

**Amelia: it's not too bad. Is that classical Hungarian? Austrian?**

**Eliza: Russian.**

**Amelia: …y Russian?**

**Eliza: check the title **

A creeping sense of dread made Amelia sit up as she tapped the back arrow a few times. _Pump Up Jamz, PATRIOTISM, Marvel Soundtracks, Disney, Russ—_

What the fuck?

_Russian Accompaniment_?

**Eliza: now you have some background music next time you're thinking of him!**

**Eliza: notice how they all have that seducing, deep, pull? Very sexy ;) **

**Eliza: are you busy?**

**Eliza: oh! Were you thinking of him right now? Music makes it soooo much better, don't you think? Almost like a helper until you get right at the edge, am I right?**

**Eliza: Amelia?**

**Eliza: Hello?**

* * *

Elizabeta looked at her phone, tapping at the screen a few more times before she leaned back. Obviously Amelia _was_ taking advantage of her present. Eliza smirked, settling back at her desk. She'd been working on that mix for the longest time, a sort of aide or a guide for her little sexually-deprived friend. What better way to help ease her into taking those steps? She was _such _a good friend.

But then Amelia had to go and stick her foot in it and get in a fight with the Russian. So for an even _longer _time it'd seemed that all her hard work had been for shit. Leave it to Amelia to be handed a sexy, brilliant, _sexy_ guy who only seemed to find _her _worth his time, and then push him away.

Seriously, the girl needed a little more coaching when it came to the romance department.

But all was well! Maddie had stopped by her room the second Amelia had sought sanctuary in her own to relay the (hopefully) good news. Eliza had logged onto her computer humming with purpose. She exited out of several of her wireless camera feeds from the boy's dorms and pulled up her music files. In just a few seconds, her playlist was on its way down the hall.

God, she could kiss herself.

Eliza was just opening up her latest yaoi comic she'd borrowed from Kiku when a loud _bang _rang through her room. She swore and jumped about a foot in the air.

"H-hello?" she called, hoping Gilbert hadn't gotten drunk and mistaken her room for Maddie's again.

_BANG._

"Hey! Don't break down my door, ass!" Eliza hopped up, stomping to the door. Another bang, and this time the grainy creaking of wood threatening to splinter followed.

"Alright, alright don't—" Eliza swallowed loudly as she opened the door. "O-oh, hi Amelia."

Amelia glowered at her.

"S-so, what's up?"

Amelia shut the door behind her.

"Come on! It was all I good fun! Even Maddie thought—ouch! Amelia that _hurt_. No, no, come on, let's just talk about this okay?" Eliza kicked the mess of clothes and books out of her way as she stumbled away from her friend. "Amelia?! That's my _hair _Amelia! ...Where the hell did you get a baseball bat? Amelia? _Amelia_!"

* * *

_**Kak ya mog byt' sumasshedshim, malyshka**:_ **means something like I'd never be mad at you, little one. I love that nickname for Amelia. I've heard it mentioned in other fics and it's just the cutest. **

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**YAY. No more fight! the drama-angst kind of deal is really interesting to write, and I can't wait to explore that demographic with this pairing but at least in this story it's not meant to stick. Hopefully Gil gets out of his funk soon, too. Eliza's fine btw. **

**I was so upset the past week because every time I opened a word document to work on the next chapter I would end up sighing and exiting out but thanks to all of you and a weird burst of inspiration, I wrote out the outline for the next few chapters in like twenty minutes in homeroom today (which is always a first step to sure greatness). **

**You guys are the best ever, like seriously, thanks to an anonymous guest who delicately suggested i update (I kid, guest.) And a new friend LoveIsAllADream who has kept my head up and my interest in this story strong. And to everyone who's offering me great support through reviews and favorites. I could go on and on for a while to each an every one of you, but basically if you're reading this: You are THE BEST thing about this process. Every time my email makes that little ding every now and again with a notification from this site I get so happy and squeal like I'm six and I just want to hug every one of you xXx**

**So thanks again, the reading and the reviews and messages are so cool and I'll try to do you proud.**

**See ya soon!**


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